The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [135]
"What do you do with the sickness once you've taken it from them?"
"I send it somewhere; into the air, the water, or the earth. Sometimes into fire. It depends what kind of sickness it is. This is what we learn to do."
Doyle recalled Jack's stories about the En-aguas in Brazil. "You use various herbs and roots to help you, medicinal compounds."
"Yes," she said, surprised that he knew this. "Sometimes."
"What causes this kind of sickness? You say it comes from outside."
"When the world is made unsound, it creates more sickness. This goes out from the world and into the people."
"And how did the world become sick?"
"People have made it so," she said simply. "When the sickness goes into them, it is only returning to where it came from."
"So before man you believe that the world was whole?"
"It was in balance, yes," she said. Before the whites came, she thought.
He looked at her openly, honestly. "So if a person becomes sick, you believe it is only a reflection of what is already inside them." "That is true most of the time."
"Miss Williams, I ask you to tell me plainly: Is there a chance that you can heal my friend?"
"That is difficult to say. I do not know if that is what your friend wants."
"What do you mean?"
"Sometimes a person will become attached to the sickness; sometimes they come to believe the sickness is more real than they are."
"Is that what has happened to my friend?"
"Yes, I think so."
"So he could not be healed. Not by anyone."
"Not when the attachment is so strong. Not unless he decides that is what he wants. He is too much in love with death."
She sees him clearly, that much is certain, thought Doyle. He finished the last of his brandy. Jack could certainly be diagnosed as mad by any medical standards. Whether any sort of medicine could bring him back remained to be seen.
A sharp knock at the door startled them. Doyle cautiously opened it a notch.
"See here, Doyle, we need to talk," said Major Pepperman. Judging by the lethal blast of his breath, he had been drinking heavily.
"Sorry, it will have to wait until morning, Major—"
Before Doyle could react, Pepperman had stuck a gigantic boot through the crack of the door and wedged it open. He took a step into the room, saw Walks Alone rising by the fire, Lionel Stern on the sofa.
"I knew it!" said Pepperman, pointing a finger at the woman. "You're up to something dastardly in here, Mr. Doyle; I must insist upon my right to be informed...."
"Major, please—"
"Sir, I don't think you appreciate the risk I've taken in bringing you to this country. I have over five thousand dollars of my own capital invested in this enterprise, and if you are unable to fulfill the obligations of our agreement, it will leave me teetering on the brink of the abyss!"
"Major, I have every intention of fulfilling my obligation____"
"I know exactly what you're up to!" "You do?"
"Running around with shady characters at all hours of the night, smuggling unconscious women into your rooms; why, it's been all I can do to keep the house detective from breaking down your door!"
Pepperman strode about, gesticulating wildly. Doyle exchanged a helpless, apologetic look with Lionel Stern, who hovered protectively over the crate holding the Zohar. Walks Alone's eye drifted to the iron poker leaning on the hearth.
"I must have some assurance, sir; I must be provided with a proper guarantee or I shall be forced to submit this matter to the attentions of my attorney! We have laws about these things in America! I have a wife and five red-headed children!"
The door behind him opened. Jack, Innes, and Presto hurried into the room.
"Rabbi Brachman has been killed," said Jack, before noticing the giant pacing in the corner.
Pepperman took in this disturbing information, stopped dead in his tracks, and began to cry. "Murder. I'm ruined!" moaned Pepperman.
"Oh, my God," said Stern, sinking back down on the sofa.
"Even the circus won't take me back now."
Presto went