Murphy's Law - 7. Eucharist

He tries not to see, he tries to focus on the fleeing Watt and not what he cannot help seeing at the top of his peripheral vision, that all-too-close Thing that Watt seems determined to run toward, the vast Thing that, despite his efforts, Murphy cannot help noticing is the color of a human gall bladder. Steadfastly he concentrates on Watt, sees Watt run, zig-zagging but always straight for the Thing Murphy is trying not to see, and always downhill for it seems the ground slopes down to the Thing. Murphy sees the people in these clans digging in their heels, resisting mightily the downward trend. In that moment it becomes clear to Murphy that it is in fact the people who are moving toward the Thing and not the Thing moving toward the people. The first few clans that Watt runs past are still organized, they are still capable of shunting Watt in between their respective lines, still capable of preventing his intrusion into their squares, but all too quickly things change and Murphy watches as Watt plunges into a melee and disappears. Murphy tries hard not to look, not to see that which he does not want to see but a force beyond his control raises his eyes and there it is.

At first he can make no sense of it, it is chaos, bedlam, a massive tangle of writhing arms and legs, topped by heads turned every which way, a dense cloud of people no longer formed in square and circle but all mixed up and jammed together. As his eyes and brain adjust Murphy sees there are no clans down there. Down there are different laws applied. He can catch no glimpse of ground down there, the people are too thick, but by raising his view slightly he sees what those people have in store. It is not at all what he expected but he knows instantly what it is. All the constituent parts are there: the Harpies, the Damned, the Demons, the Teeth. The Harpies are just like those who have plagued Clan Murphy lo these many days, only many more of them, swooping, screeching, snatching morsels from God only knows where. The Damned are as expected, Other People maimed and tortured, some still standing though without heads, some waving stumps of arms about, others gutted from chin to crotch, bowels hanging out, some seem to have their heads on backwards, all crying, screaming, pleading with the Lord on high for mercy, some simply numb and unresisting, weeping quietly. Murphy has no trouble making sense of the Damned, it is the Demons and the Teeth he has to solve. For the Demons are not at all as he had always pictured them, not at all like humans with heads and arms and legs, however hideous his imagination might make them. No, these actual demons were not like that at all. Heads they have but lacking necks; small flat wings where arms should be; and no legs at all – instead a flat, writhing forked thing at the end of their bodies. Each has another of these flat parts coming out of the middle of their backs. The Demons are shaped roughly like a finger with nothing protruding but the various flat things. They seem to Murphy nothing more than beings created for the sole purpose of having jaws and teeth, and their jaws and teeth are awesome. In fact, where Murphy had always envisioned a single large maw lined with teeth it turns out there are myriad maws, some large, some small, all lined with teeth. And it was into this storm of teeth that the Damned are being pushed, but whereas Murphy had imagined human-like Demons doing the pushing and shoving of the Damned into a single Hellmouth, he now sees it is the people themselves who do the pushing and shoving and that they push and shove each other into the Demons who are themselves the Hellmouth. Hell itself is composed of some mysterious substance the color of a human gall bladder but of the consistency of a mud puddle. Though not quite the right color, Murphy decides it must be piss. The great mass of people are being shoved into this substance and many are already in it, some up to their eyebrows, some to their chins, and so forth down to those in only up to their ankles. The Demons obviously live there and are now furiously attacking the Damned who have been pushed into the Hellish substance. There are terrifically large Demons, black with large white patches, beasts who dwarf the people around them. These are dashing in and snatching the people who have gotten so far in that only their heads are visible. After snatching them these tremendous beasts toss them high into the air, the people flip head over heels, limbs every which way, fall back into Hell where they are either tossed again or finally crunched by teeth the size of a human head. The smallest Demons are the size of a human forearm and hurtle through the air in manic fury ripping and tearing the sinews of the Damned who have yet to venture far into the piss. There are Demons of every size between these small ones and the tremendous black and white ones, the most impressive being those that are two or three times the size of a man and whose upper parts can be seen coursing through the piss mauling and slicing human limbs with their monstrous jaws.

Oddly, however, the battle is not all one-sided. Murphy watches as one of these leviathans, a mangled leg protruding from its maw, has come too far out of Hell and flounders. Several men attack it, darting up to it they stab it viciously in the eyes and head and soon its blood is spouting copiously. The men hold their mouths up to the squirting red gouts, but the beast jerks and snaps frantically, gulping down the leg in the process, and the men must leap back. As the beast's throes abate, however, the men close in, hacking slabs of white meat from its gleaming flanks which they scarcely chew before swallowing. All the while the smaller Demons tear at them, at their feet and legs, shoulders, faces, ears. But here too the Demons sometimes become the prey. Murphy watches one man rip open the underbelly of one these smaller Demons and press the gash to his face to suck out the viscera. Such moments of human victory are infrequent though, the overwhelming trend in favor of the Demons, there are so many of them, an endless supply it seems. Hell is vast, it stretches as far as the eye can see. Way, way off in the distance it meets the sky. And it is apparently filled with Demons. Looking off away Murphy can see them coming, can see the odd appendage on their backs slipping through the piss, can see their long, dark shapes just beneath the surface. How many must there be out there, he wonders.

The scene horrifies Murphy yet holds him spellbound. It is pandemonium, a mélange of death such as he has never imagined. It is worse than his worst nightmare. As he watches his blood curdles from shock and panic, the warmth ebbs from his bones, his skin tingles with fright. Though it seems an eternity he only watches for a moment or two. After that his sight reels, his head is dizzy. With a yelp he loses his balance and, despite the heroic efforts of Pozzo, tumbles backward and down the back of Molloy to flop ingloriously in the muck. At first Pozzo hesitates, caught between his desire to help Murphy to his feet and the prohibition against touching the Big Mahaf. On a commanding snarl from Murphy, however, Pozzo grabs his chief and helps him stand up. The men avert their eyes, pretending not to have seen Murphy's tumble, but Pozzo is so discombobulated he stares wide-eyed straight into the Mahaf's face, which infuriates that luminary further. After a long moment Murphy spits into Pozzo's face. Now Pozzo staggers backward and falls in the muck, so shocked is he. He feels as though the sacred but taboo saliva of the Big Mahaf must be eating a hole in his face. Murphy turns and heads back to his usual spot. Pozzo leaps to his feet and chases after him. With a grunt Murphy plops down onto his human throne while Pozzo stands indecisively behind him. Then Pozzo turns to the Mothers and whispers. Only menstrual blood can cleanse the sacrilegious infections on his hands and face. Clan Murphy is dismayed. They see the pallor that fear has painted on their leader's face, they see his quaking limbs. Many begin to moan. Several of the women start to keen. Murphy ignores them, lost in thought. He has seen the Hellmouth, heathens, false believers, sinners in the hands of an angry God. He has seen justice in all its horrible art and it has shaken him to the core.

That night something altogether unprecedented occurs. It happens in the wee hours when nearly everyone is asleep. Despite the anxiety inherent in their situation, most people still sleep soundly, the result of exhaustion after a day of butchery. One person only, in each clan, is supposed to be awake, and this is the boy who shoos the insects from the Mahaf. The Tukisleker doubles as watchman in case a Mad One from another clan bolts, in which case a few men would be roused to repel him. This night, however, only one man is awakened and that is Murphy, who, truth be told, was only feigning sleep anyway. Even so he has trouble understanding what the boy tells him, it's so outlandish. The Mahaf from another clan wants to talk to him. Murphy has never heard of such a thing, never even imagined it as a possibility. He sits up and looks where the boy points. In the moonlight stands a tall man. Murphy looks around at his own clan. Everyone seems to be asleep. He whispers to the boy who moves off toward the moonlit shadow. Presently the boy leads the man back to Murphy who stands up.

"I am Bruno," the man says pausing and looking significantly into Murphy' eyes.

Murphy is shocked but says nothing.

"Yes," Bruno goes on. "I tell you my name, and it truly is my name. You may cast spells upon me now. I don't care. I do this to show you can trust me. In fact, you must trust me. I need your help, but you need mine just as much."

Though the moon shines brightly it is still too dark for Murphy to discern the color of Bruno's eyes. He can, however, distinguish the pupils from the whites and sees that Bruno is staring straight into his own eyes. Then something, the shape of the man's head, his shoulders, maybe only his ear lobes, clarifies this vision and with a start Murphy realizes this is the same Mahaf who yelled at him oh so long ago and in whose direction he urinated. A few times since then Murphy has caught this man eying him. Murphy squats down on his heels. Bruno follows suit.

"I saw you today," he says. "I watched you as you looked at the Teeth. I've been watching you for some time and I think I know you."

Murphy remains stone-faced.

"I know, for instance," Bruno continues, "that today was the first time you'd ever seen it. I could almost read your thoughts. You've been resisting it, denying it, I've watched you, but today you had to see and now you know it's true."

Still no reaction from Murphy. He hears a very faint chuckle.

"Yes, I know," says Bruno. "You are driving my clan into the Jaws and we will precede you. But not by much. A day or two at most."

Bruno leans closer.

"It's not how you pictured it is it?" he whispers. "Me neither. Like you, probably like most everyone, I had imagined a gigantic mouth lined with enormous teeth, crunch, crunch, crunch. Now that I see how it really is I wonder how I could have imagined such nonsense."

"It's piss," Murphy says suddenly. Bruno looks at him closely.

"Hell you mean," he says. "Yes, you may well be right but what does it matter? Tell me, did you see them eating those Demons?"

Murphy nods.

"They eat all of them," Bruno continues, "big or small. I watch them whenever I can. Hell has an endless supply of Demons."

The two men are silent a few moments.

"I have a plan," says Bruno suddenly. "We need to unite. Then we'd be twice as strong."

There is a long silence.

"Imagine it," says Bruno. "Our two clans, all clans, are just about the same size. Imagine if suddenly one clan was twice as big, had twice the warriors. Imagine the strength."

Finally Murphy shakes his head.

"You still wouldn't be strong enough to fight your way back," he says.

"No," Bruno agrees. "But we don't want to fight our way back. We want to stay right here, by the Hellmouth. We want to hold our ground and if we kept uniting with other clans sooner or later we'd be too big to push anymore."

Murphy leans back. Combining two clans was Mad enough, now he wants more.

"How many clans do you think would join you?" Murphy sneers.

"It only takes us two," says Bruno eagerly. "Look at all the extra warriors we'd have. If we put them into one line we'd break through and that clan wouldn't have any choice but to join us."

"If you break through why not just eat them?" asks Murphy.

"Because they're no use to us dead," Bruno replies quickly. "What we need are soldiers, living, fighting soldiers."

"And what about the women?"

"Leave all the circles intact, but merge the breeders. Look how much safer they'd be between circles and away from the fighting."

Murphy laughs.

"How would you feed that many people?" he asks.

"That's why we want to stay right here," Bruno laughs. "So we can eat the Demons!"

Murphy is nonplussed.

"Yes!" says Bruno. "Why not? You've seen them doing it yourself. And no matter how many are eaten there are always more to take their place. Watch them."

"But then..."

"Yes," says Bruno. "We'd need to have access to them. Think of it. Instead of four lines we'd only need three and the men of the fourth line could hunt Demons. That's all they'd do. They'd bring the Demons to the circles of women who would prepare the food. Then with our greater numbers we could take over one clan after another."

Murphy looks off to the moonlight shining on the horizon and says nothing.

"Now is the time," Bruno wheedles. "My clan is almost to the Hellmouth. We could form the Demon-hunting party and the men of our clans who now oppose one another could be reinforcements to be used to overwhelm whichever neighboring clan you chose."

Murphy continues gazing into the distance.

"You could be Exalted Poobah," says Bruno softly.

"Exalted Poobah?"

"Yes. You could be Poobah and I would be just Mahaf. And the Mahaf of each clan could continue being Mahaf so no one would have to lose anything. All the Mahafs could form a council to advise you, but you could give the final orders."

"Why me?"

"Well, it has to be one of the two of us doesn't it? Would you rather I was Exalted Poobah?"

Murphy snorts.

"You've given this much thought," he says.

Bruno nods.

"I've thought of little else lately," he says. "Ever since Watt suggested it to me."

"Watt?" Murphy exclaims.

Bruno nods.

"Yes," he says. "Your man Watt. Of course his idea was to eat the Harpies. At the time we hadn't yet seen the Demons but there weren't enough Harpies and I was not yet ready to forge a new Law. Now I see the real state of things, now I see the endless supply of Demons. Of course we could probably eat the Harpies too I suppose."

There is a pause during which the two Mahafs watch one another. A man nearby suddenly screams and both Mahafs look at him.

"What about the shit?" Murphy mutters after a moment of silence.

Bruno seems startled.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean there won't be any."

"Why not?"

"If you don't eat people you can't make shit. Only people are made of shit so only people can return to shit."

"You don't know that," Bruno objects. "Maybe shit can be made from the Demons."

Murphy stares at Bruno incredulously.

"Look," Bruno tries to placate him. "We'll still eat people. There are the old ones, the Mad Ones, the ones who fall in combat. We'll still eat those."

"There won't be enough of them," says Murphy. "Not for the Unnamable."

Bruno shakes his head, bites his lips, stares at the ground. After a moment he looks back up at Murphy.

"It can't be helped," he says. "It's the only thing we can do."

"Not so," smiles Murphy. "It's the only thing you can do. You are Damned. And listening to you it is plain to see why. You obviously do not live the Law. You think for yourself, make your own way. Now you see the peril of such behavior. You are human, capable of only so much understanding. Beyond that, pfft. You miss a detail here, overlook a possibility there, and the next thing you know you're being shoved into the jaws of Hell."

"Oh yes, of course!" Bruno growls. "And this is the One True Clan! You and yours live the Law right down to the bone, absolutely perfectly. Oh yes, I've watched you, watched your rites, heard you confessing, saw your offscouring. He ran by our clan you know. Like you, I watched him. He ran right into the jaws, obviously crazed. That was the end of him. And it will be the end of you too, One True Clan or not. Oh yes, I and mine will precede you but not by much. You'll be next you fool. How can you think otherwise?"

"Yes," says Murphy. "We are the One True Clan and as the One True Clan how could we possibly join with a false one?"

Bruno stares at Murphy. He starts to say something but stops himself.

"Listen," he says calmly. "Look about you. Look into the future. You don't have to look very far. Any day now my clan will start fighting at night. I've watched this process many times. First the men take turns on the line nearest Hell, but soon they start fighting on the opposite one, resisting being pushed. Before long they're fighting constantly. But all it does is wear them down and land them in Hell all the sooner. My clan's days are numbered and no amount of praying, singing, or sacrificing can change that. And your clan will be next. The only chance for survival is to adopt my plan. There is no other way."

"There is the way of the Law," Murphy replies softly.

"It's the Law that has led to this!" Bruno shouts. The conversation has for some time been growing louder and more and more of Murphy's men have been awakened. They lie now as though asleep, but watching. Murphy suddenly stands up, followed by Bruno. Furiously, Murphy whispers. "You are Mad!" Then aloud, he cries, "Seize him!"

As Murphy's men leap to their feet to surround Bruno, the Tukisleker in Bruno's clan starts to shout. It isn't long before the two clans are at each other, the one trying to regain its Mahaf, the other to hold him. In the end, Murphy's clan wins the battle and a back-broken Bruno is delivered to the women and children. A furious keening commences in Bruno's clan and one man, evidently Bruno's successor, shouts dire threats to Murphy, who only laughs. It is clear, he tells his people, why that particular clan is in the predicament it is in. Its Mahaf is utterly mad. It is also clear, he continues, why this clan, Clan Murphy, is where it is. It was the intent of the Unnamable that it be the instrument of the other clan's destruction. Once they have pushed it into the jaws of Hell they will be saved.

All night the battle rages between the two clans and into the next day. The night of Bruno's visit turns out to be the last night all the warriors in Clan Murphy are allowed to sleep through the night, for every night thereafter they must take turns fighting on the side facing the Hellmouth, resisting the clans in that direction in their desperate attempts to escape their fate. It is in fact but a few nights before Clan Murphy, as Bruno predicted, must also fight on two fronts, resisting on the one, trying to break out on the other.

Murphy steps up his prayers and speeches. Over and over he harps on belief and faith in the Unnamable, in the Law, in himself. He praises the men for their mettle, the women for their industry, the breeders for their dedication. He spends entire days egging on his soldiers, driving them, pushing them, singing hosannas to them. The futility of these blandishments must be evident to Murphy though, for he soon takes a different tack. Overnight he abandons his propaganda campaign in the physical realm and commences operations in the spiritual. At times he lays about furiously, slaying, presumably, sundry unseen forces of evil. Other times he argues passionately, justifying himself and his clan, probably to his ghostly predecessors. Before long he spends nearly all his time gesticulating and talking with beings invisible to the common man. Eventually his primary interlocutor becomes the Unnamable Himself. These conversations with his god run the gamut of emotions. Now he is sad, disappointed, pleading; next he is angry, assertive, demanding; following that he is happy, shining, pleased. These antics work to better effect among the people than his previous tirades which had been increasingly ignored. Now the Mahaf is regarded with a sense of awe. Now the people are reassured. But each night Murphy broods. Where can he have gone wrong? What could he have missed? In what way has he sinned? Try as he might, though, he can find no fault with his administration. He has followed the Law faithfully. Still, how to explain this predicament? That all these Other People are here holds no mystery whatever. They err in their interpretation of the Law and the Lord is justly punishing them. But that the One True Clan should find itself here on the lip of the Hellmouth is inexplicable. Until... Suddenly he realizes what he must do, realizes the one thing that has been left undone. It will be hard but the will of the Lord must be done. Fortunately he identifies the correct path while time remains. Next morning before Matins, with the far edge of Bruno's clan nearly at the verge of the melee of disintegrated clans at the Hellmouth, he announces the ritual of the Sacred Heart.

All are stunned. A fatal breach in one line nearly occurs, so disconcerted are the warriors there. The rest of the day, however, the men conduct their operations with renewed vigor, and there is a constant buzz from the women and boys. None of the people have ever seen the rite of the Sacred Heart, they have only heard of it, and never having performed it, none but Murphy, now that Watt is gone, can claim more than a vague notion how to accomplish it. Accordingly, the Mahaf spends the day conferring with Pozzo and his assistants, instructing them serially as only one can be spared at a time from the incessant hostilities.

The tension in the clan is palpable, but finally evening comes and the fighting slackens enough to free Pozzo and a few other men for the ceremony. These men crawl to their Mahaf through the slime, as usual, where he proffers his hindquarters for them to kiss as usual. Having dispensed with that formality, however, the men all stand around Murphy and stare at him. After a few moments of silence Murphy spreads his arms as though to envelop all his clan and gazing hard at Pozzo intones, "I bequeath thee shite".

At which point... Pozzo spits on his idol and immediately the others do likewise. After that they urinate on him, arcing their streams as high up his body as they can. Finally they scoop up handfuls of slime and vermin and smear the Mahaf, paying particular attention to the top of his head and his face, and poking it into his eyes, ears, and nose. Murphy submits utterly to every indignity, never flinching. After several minutes of this, one man gets on all fours behind the Mahaf and Pozzo shoves him in the chest so forcefully he topples over backwards. The men seize his legs and rip off his boots. These are given to Pozzo who solemnly dons them. The men begin to drag Murphy by his feet. No care is taken now to keep Murphy from touching the muck or to keep the men from touching him. They drag him around the perimeter of the clan and each man disengages from his opponent long enough to spit or piss on Murphy. The teenage boys have their turn as well, desecrating him and stomping him. Finally he is dragged through the circle and the women and children all have a go at him. When this ordeal is over they place him on one of their human altars and hold him down. Pozzo straddles him with a knife, and wiping the slop from Murphy's chest carefully makes a deep incision about eight inches long. He widens and deepens the gash, particularly just below the rib cage, in the area of the diaphragm, until he is finally able to get his entire fist inside. Murphy, through this ordeal, drenched with sweat, eyes rolling back in his head, offers no resistance and makes not a sound. Slowly, methodically, Pozzo enlarges the opening in Murphy's chest, then bends close and peers into it. Thrusting in his hand he feels around a moment, apparently finds what he wants and pauses, looking steadfastly into his victim's eyes. Murphy's face is contorted in agony but with iron will he returns Pozzo's gaze. All at once Pozzo wrenches with his hand, gives a fearful jerk, and rips out Murphy's heart, which he holds aloft, streaming gore, with a triumphant yell.

The corpse is then reverentially lifted and conveyed to the circle of women while Pozzo, with the assistance of two other men, cuts the heart into bite-sized pieces. Then, muttering dark incantations, he makes the rounds of all the men, placing a piece in each mouth. Last to receive this offering are the boys, the women and children are omitted entirely. It falls to the women, however, to skin the corpse and behead it, which duty they perform during the night. In the morning light, prior to Matins, they assemble an effigy and the new Mahaf, Pozzo, comes for it. He stands on a skin just outside the circle and the bottom end of the effigy is passed to him. Kneeling beside him is the boy Shonso, with a few of the men huddled around to hide these proceedings from view. The effigy is made of the head and skin of Murphy. The head is mounted on a pole made of human femurs lashed together, and the skin hangs from the bottom of the head. Pozzo bids Shonso grasp the pole and get under the skin, then he and all the men suddenly jump backwards.

"Lo!" shouts Pozzo. "Behold the godlike Murphy, risen from the dead!"

Then he leads Shonso around the clan, blowing kisses at him, and the other men follow. The warriors all raise a shout as the effigy passes and the women and children keen and cry. The boys whoop and whistle and traipse along in the procession on their knees. All the while this celebration is in progress, clan Bruno is rapidly disintegrating, along with the clans on either side of it. Their women and children have come up against the backs of their own protectors and are being pushed into the confusion. The men facing Clan Murphy are beginning to turn away to witness the last moments of their clan. In a few minutes will come the end of last clan between Clan Pozzo and the Hellmouth.