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'Your mask?'
'I brought it with me from Indonesia. It's in a large grey polyethylene sack
back at Days Inn. You'll find it in the closet. The incense is in a purple
box, top left-hand drawer of the bureau. You won't mistake the mask. It's
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very big, about as big as this -' he stretched out his hands. 'It's red and
white and gold, a kind of papier-mache with artificial hair glued to it.' He
looked at Reece and said, 'The teeth are artificial too, except when they
choose not to be.'
Reece looked away. He had tried to persuade himself night after night that he
had been suffering from hallucinations that morning in Denpasar when Jimmy
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Heacox had put his head into the mask. On the other hand, he was pretty sure
that he hadn't been and that - magically, impossibly - Jimmy's head had been
bitten off and digested by something that did not even exist, not in the real
world anyway, while what was left of him had been spat out onto the temple
floor like so much offal. Jimmy's grisly, protruding tongue had been left
hanging out as a warning to others: Never mock the Witch Widow Rangda; never
speak her name disrespectfully; never betray her or fail to do her bidding.
The next hour passed as slowly as if the mechanism of Waverley's clocks had
been lubricated with treacle. Waverley obliged his captives to sit side by
side on a small colonial sofa from which they could look through the French
doors at Wanda. Michael smoked eight cigarettes; Randolph remained motionless
and silent, trying to preserve his energy; Reece made an enthusiastic job of
flossing his teeth, sawing the floss back and forth between his molars.
It was well past two o'clock when the mad-looking Louv returned from Days Inn
carrying a huge bundle wrapped in one of the hotel blankets. He set it down in
the middle of the living-room floor and then delved into his pocket and took
out two boxes of incense sticks. 'I had trouble getting that stuff. The night
clerk wanted fifty just to open the fucking door. In the end I told him to
open it for free or I was going to open him. Back to belly. The stupid
bastard.'
Waverley had been out of the room for most of the time, but now he was sitting
in the corner on a small Queen
388
Anne chair, his legs neatly crossed. He stood up and approached the mask with
undisguised fascination.
'Stay away,' Michael warned.
Waverley stepped back. 'Whatever you say, my dear fellow. Are we ready to
enter the death trance almost at once?'
Michael said tiredly, 'Let me prepare. Do you have any dishes, anything I can
use for burning incense?'
'My butler will bring them.'
Michael asked for Randolph's help in dragging aside the sofas and the coffee
table so the centre of the room was clear. As they moved about, he leaned
close to Randolph's ear and murmured, 'When we're gone, follow us.'
'What?' whispered Randolph.
'Follow us into the death trance. You know how to do it.'
'But what can I do even if I manage it?'
Michael gave Randolph a weary smile. 'I'll show you once we're there. Don't be
afraid. And remember, you might get to see Marmie and the children. This might
be your last chance.'
Randolph nodded his agreement. The butler had come back into the living room
with four Spode dishes that Michael set down ritually at each corner of the
room and then filled with sticks of incense. He lit the incense with great
concentration and the smell of sandalwood and jasmine began to drift across
the floor. Louv sniffed and went into a fit of sneezing. 'Smells like a Saigon
flophouse,' he protested.
Michael took no notice of him. Instead, he approached the mask and cautiously
tugged aside the blanket. Then he tore open the polyethylene to reveal the
mask itself, still draped in scarlet silk but with one eye glaring out at them
like the eye of hell itself.
'So this is the notorious mask,' Waverley said in fascination as Michael
carefully laid it down in the centre of the floor. 'Is this the same mask that
-' he mimicked with a twist of his hands the removal of a man's head.
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'This is the same mask,' Michael acknowledged without taking his eyes off
Reece. Reece grimaced in disgust and looked the other way.
The mask of Rangda was arranged according to custom: her face covered with
silk, her curving teeth invisible. To cover her face was a mark of respect for
the most terrible of all the goddesses. O Rangda, we shield our eyes from your
ferocity. O Rangda, we drape thee and dress thee; thou art the bride of death;
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the widow of darkness; we lay flowers for thee; we worship thee; we light
incense for thee at the four corners of the world.
Michael sat down on the floor, his legs crossed, his palms lifted upward. He
indicated with a nod that Waverley should do the same. Reece came forward and
helped Waverley to struggle into position; they could hear Waverley's knee
joints click.
Michael was about to begin his recitation of the sacred mantras when Waverley
tapped Reece on the side of the leg with his cane and said, 'You too. You're
coming. You don't think I'm going to enter any death trance without
protection, do you? And where are those cameras? Did Williams get back with
those Polaroid cameras?'
Reece held up a brown canvas camera bag and showed Waverley the two SX 70s
inside.
Michael leaned forward. 'He's coming?' he queried, pointing at Reece.
Waverley asked, There isn't any problem, is there?'
Michael shook his head. 'If he's going, I'm not going, and that's final. If
the leyaks don't kill me, he certainly will.'
'Reece!' barked Waverley.
Reece had hefted out of his jacket his .45 Colt automatic and pushed back the
slide. Now he pressed the cocked and loaded pistol against Michael's nose.
Michael pushed the gun away with a gentle finger and said, 'Okay. That's fine.
You want to come, you come. Sit down next to Mr Graceworthy and don't worry [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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