XIV

To God obscenity is not uncovered flesh. It is exposed intention. Nakedness is just a state of heart. Was Adam any more unclothed when he discovered shame? Yes.

The wall of the great city reached upward till it defied all measurement of mind.

Outside the fortress, stretching up the slopes, a grove of trees bearded the great stone wall that had slept for centuries above the seasons of new leaf and naked frost.

Towers and minarets glinted in the sun-washed sky and caused the Singer apprehension as he leaned against a tree.

He watched the human commerce flowing through the rough-hewn gates. Never had he seen so many people hungry for a living song. They jostled shapelessly, a mass of urban sameness. Each hurried after urgent unattended business, yet none had any reason for the press.

The Singer sighed.

Sometimes a child would follow in the madding throng. Already it appeared the youngster tried to learn the routine, manufactured steps of older men he mimicked in the way.

Reluctant to adopt the business cadence of the empty throng, the Singer turned and sought a quiet place beneath the wall. He walked into the trees.

“Hello, Singer,” said the voice he knew too well. “Welcome to the quiet of the grove. Does the senseless empty crowd offend you?”

The Singer’s only offense came in knowing that the World Hater always seemed to know what he was thinking.

“How did you manage to make them cherish all this nothingness?” he asked the World Hater.

“I simply make them feel embarrassed to admit that they are incomplete. A man would rather close his eyes than see himself as your Father-Spirit does. I teach them to exalt their emptiness and thus preserve the dignity of man.”

“They need the dignity of God.”

“You tell them that. I sell a cheaper product.”

They were deeper in the woods. They stopped in a shaded spot beneath the fortress wall.

A heavy set of chains hung from a great foundation stone that held the towering wall. Manacles hung bolted on the wrists of a burly, naked man.

He slept or seemed to.

Before him on the ground lay a heavy stoneware basin nearly filled with water and the dried remains of bread half-eaten.

“Is he mad?” the Singer asked.

“Senselessly,” the Hater answered.

“Who brings him bread and water?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“To see him dance in madness without a tiny hope! Imagine my delight when he raves and screams in chains. Would you like for me to wake this animal?”

“He is a man. Earthmaker made him so. What is his name?”

“The Crowd.”

“Why such a name?”

“Because within this sleeping hulk there are a thousand hating spirits from the Canyon of the Damned. They leap at him with sounds no ears but his can hear. They dive at him with screaming lights no other eyes can see. And in his torment he will hold his shaggy head and whimper. Then he rises and strains in fury against the chains to tear them from the wall. Stand back and see.”