springs to her mind is not exciting or titillating; under the gaze of those dark haunted eyes the image of the dead child is too lurid, too real to be thrilling.
“You’ve upset her now and all for the sake of telling your macabre tales.” The preacher cries, reclaiming the space between them and laying a comforting hand on her soft warm skin.
“I have no further interest in debating this with you and I would ask that you keep your opinions to yourself for the rest of the journey.”
“It’s alright I’ll be fine.” Caroline assures her protector. “I apologise to you, sir but I have never seen such things. Even the thought is terrible.”
“Indeed it is, Caroline. Be thankful that, for you, they are things to be imagined, rather than remembered.”
“It must have been awful. Tell me where you saw such things.” Caroline begs, pulling herself from the preacher’s supporting arms and displaying the capacity of youth to dismiss life’s terrors as quickly as they are encountered.
“There are many such sights to be seen in the desert, Caroline, it is not as it is on the line and in the cities. People must fight to survive and desperate people do strange things, few are pleasant.”
“But the girl you saw, surely that was not people? That must have been mutants or even spirits,” the girl whispers.
“I don’t think the padre or your chaperone, would thank me for filling your head with tales of ghouls, as I suspect someone has already been doing.”
“I may be inexperienced but there is no need to insult me! You, yourself, just said there was truth in such tales,” Caroline whines, sitting back in her seat again.
“I wish neither, to scare nor insult you, Caroline but if your interest in the desert is genuine, then you should know the truth and not merely in the form of old tales and glamorized adventures. You want me to tell you that it was a spirit, eventually sent to its judgement by a priest such as this one, or a mutant found by a righteous mob and repaid in kind for its bestiality. The truth is that the girl was alone when I found her and it could as easily have been her family who murdered her, to ensure that there was not an extra drain on their water reserves when they left their worked-out claim and tried to make it back to the cities before summer came. Perhaps another child lived through her death or perhaps it was simply unmitigated evil. I do not know, but before you go looking for the devil and his monsters, remember that the truth is we are all quite capable of evil. All of us have the potential to be monsters at one time or another.”
“And what good does this ‘truth’ of yours do anyone?” The preacher demands.
“Satan’s power lies in untruths, padre. Better that this child be warned than suffer for ignorance that has been made into a virtue.”
“You may believe that, but I disagree,” the young man says earnestly, “Satan’s power relies on something far more terrible.”
“And what might that be?” The Pilgrim asks, with a crooked smile.
“Why the loss of hope, of course! I fear, in that sense, you may already have become one of his victims.” The young idealist answers
“Oh I have hope, padre,” the Pilgrim lowers his hat back over his eyes, to indicate that he has lost interest in the conversation, “I have the only hope we can all have, redemption.”
Neither Caroline nor the preacher seems inclined to respond to this and instead begin a whispered conversation punctuated by giggles and mutual smiles. In a strange way the man in the corner of the carriage had made his point. So far as Caroline was concerned the desert seemed far less romantic a place since she had met him.
The train runs swiftly though the rest of the night and one by one the compartment empties of people, until Blake is alone. No doubt, even now, the preacher is using the pretext of prayer to make an attempt on the Lady Caroline’s innocence. Blake barely
“You’ve upset her now and all for the sake of telling your macabre tales.” The preacher cries, reclaiming the space between them and laying a comforting hand on her soft warm skin.
“I have no further interest in debating this with you and I would ask that you keep your opinions to yourself for the rest of the journey.”
“It’s alright I’ll be fine.” Caroline assures her protector. “I apologise to you, sir but I have never seen such things. Even the thought is terrible.”
“Indeed it is, Caroline. Be thankful that, for you, they are things to be imagined, rather than remembered.”
“It must have been awful. Tell me where you saw such things.” Caroline begs, pulling herself from the preacher’s supporting arms and displaying the capacity of youth to dismiss life’s terrors as quickly as they are encountered.
“There are many such sights to be seen in the desert, Caroline, it is not as it is on the line and in the cities. People must fight to survive and desperate people do strange things, few are pleasant.”
“But the girl you saw, surely that was not people? That must have been mutants or even spirits,” the girl whispers.
“I don’t think the padre or your chaperone, would thank me for filling your head with tales of ghouls, as I suspect someone has already been doing.”
“I may be inexperienced but there is no need to insult me! You, yourself, just said there was truth in such tales,” Caroline whines, sitting back in her seat again.
“I wish neither, to scare nor insult you, Caroline but if your interest in the desert is genuine, then you should know the truth and not merely in the form of old tales and glamorized adventures. You want me to tell you that it was a spirit, eventually sent to its judgement by a priest such as this one, or a mutant found by a righteous mob and repaid in kind for its bestiality. The truth is that the girl was alone when I found her and it could as easily have been her family who murdered her, to ensure that there was not an extra drain on their water reserves when they left their worked-out claim and tried to make it back to the cities before summer came. Perhaps another child lived through her death or perhaps it was simply unmitigated evil. I do not know, but before you go looking for the devil and his monsters, remember that the truth is we are all quite capable of evil. All of us have the potential to be monsters at one time or another.”
“And what good does this ‘truth’ of yours do anyone?” The preacher demands.
“Satan’s power lies in untruths, padre. Better that this child be warned than suffer for ignorance that has been made into a virtue.”
“You may believe that, but I disagree,” the young man says earnestly, “Satan’s power relies on something far more terrible.”
“And what might that be?” The Pilgrim asks, with a crooked smile.
“Why the loss of hope, of course! I fear, in that sense, you may already have become one of his victims.” The young idealist answers
“Oh I have hope, padre,” the Pilgrim lowers his hat back over his eyes, to indicate that he has lost interest in the conversation, “I have the only hope we can all have, redemption.”
Neither Caroline nor the preacher seems inclined to respond to this and instead begin a whispered conversation punctuated by giggles and mutual smiles. In a strange way the man in the corner of the carriage had made his point. So far as Caroline was concerned the desert seemed far less romantic a place since she had met him.
The train runs swiftly though the rest of the night and one by one the compartment empties of people, until Blake is alone. No doubt, even now, the preacher is using the pretext of prayer to make an attempt on the Lady Caroline’s innocence. Blake barely
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