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SNAFU Part 31

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

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Was I going to meet John? I didn’t know. Because I love someone doesn’t mean I have to see them. Lots of people live in a world of unrequited love. It drives poets and playwrights, composers and artists. So why not me? Maybe it would cause me write poetry or music. Maybe it would simply make me bitter and twisted?

I decided that I wouldn’t meet him when he arrived, but I would go and visit him soon afterwards. I’d let him stew for a couple of days. It would do him good. I’d been exploring Qabalah, trying to see where it fitted in with my view of the universe. Interestingly, I’d got things upside down. It isn’t so much how it would fit my universe, but how my universe fitted inside it.

For the uninitiated; Qabalah, is the ancient Hebrew mystical tradition based upon the ‘Tree of Life’. There are three traditions associated with it. Spelt with a ‘K’ as in Kabbalah; it tends to be primarily based on Judaism. Cabala; is mainly Christian in its system. Whilst Qabalah, is the Western Mystery Tradition. In other words, an occultist/mystical tradition.

There are reputed to have been many famous Qabalists. The best known is probably Jesus; who was allegedly killed because he revealed its secrets. St Paul, writes in a very Qabalistic way. More recently, Da Vinci and Newton are names who have studied the Tree. Newton even learnt Hebrew to aid his studies. More modern occultists and scholars like Waite and Regardie, made Qabalah accessible to many, as did Dion Fortune; whose book I was reading.

Qabalah is the origin of the major arcana of the tarot; it is an oral tradition probably dating back millennia. Some suggest to Abraham and certainly Moses. It’s possibly older than Judaism, by which I mean the religion which developed from earlier middle eastern traditions, elevating Yaweh from an agricultural god, to one of the first monotheistic traditions.

It’s all fascinating stuff, and in exploring such traditions; enabled me to find my own sense of self amongst those who had pondered these same questions many years before. I was mixing my traditions, but then haven’t we always? The universal model of the Tree, adapting to all things. The ‘Lightning Flash’ or ‘Path of the Serpent’, showing how all things come into manifestation, even this my little tale. However, like all things esoteric; it requires a pure heart to work properly. In other words; it is about intention.

I could see that in serving up justice ‘Old Testament’ style; Sekhmet was at times emanating from Geburah; one of the spheres or sephiroth of the Tree. At other times, it could have been a lower sphere through my intent or influence.

The ‘Lord’s Prayer’ is Qabalistic in its original form, ‘the power and the glory’ and ‘the kingdom’; relate to spheres on the Tree. It is an older tradition than Christianity, and I like the idea that Jesus was trying to share his vision; a Qabalistic vision; with the ordinary folk. The Kingdom is here. It is too, at least Qabalistically. The Kingdom is Malkuth, the lowest sphere of the Tree, and it represents the material world. It is all here for those with eyes to see it. Sadly, most of us are blind, and even Jesus couldn’t make us see. What chance a mere adolescent, with no aspirations to save the world or deliver the ‘Kingdom’?

I went for a ride as I pondered this latest acquisition of spiritual information. It’s all a giant jig-saw puzzle. There is no picture and all the parts are the same. It can therefore be put together in myriad ways. Each one of us does it differently, because we are different. You are unique, just like everyone else.

I rode past the woodland where I had encountered the elementals, and where they had helped me hide from Oliver after the strange encounter in the hotel. It still struck me as bizarre that we could be so fooled by something which didn’t happen. But we nearly were. I’ve had discussions with my father since. He finds it very hard to accept, let alone understand. Since then; I’ve done many things I find hard to accept; especially the taking of a human life. Not only that but they’ve given me bits of metal to glorify it; to wear with pride. I can’t get my head around that at all.

Perhaps, Sheila Brice is right. It’s courage which is rewarded not the acts which are committed. On the occasions when people died; others were saved by my actions. I must concentrate on that positive element. It was Sekhmet in Geburah, dispensing justice.

I had read quite a bit about, my friend with the lioness’ head. There is masses on the internet. Even though I served her many lifetimes ago in ancient Egypt; I don’t remember that much. Apparently, I could join a religious group based in Wisconsin; who worship her and other Egyptian deities.

I don’t know how real these things are. Can they really know religious rite from three thousand years ago? I know some was recorded in their writings, but there’d be much which wasn’t. Do they make it up? Channel it in some way? Have past life influences? Why do I always have more questions than answers?

I would go on acknowledging my mistress, and communicating my servitude in my own way. I honestly didn’t think I needed advice or courses to help me; though those are available on the internet too. She looked after me; I was bonded to her. I had no choice other than to accept my fate. I did, albeit with difficulty on occasions.

I just wished I could do more of her positive work. We know all about the ‘destroyer’ stuff. But not so much that she was a goddess of healing. That aspect was far more enjoyable than the other side of the coin. It was obviously no coincidence that I was involved in nursing and health care; was it?

While I was out on my bike; where everything makes sense; even the imponderables I had been trying to ponder; the ‘bat phone’ rang. I didn’t hear it because I was out. Can you believe they had a helicopter out searching for me?

It appears that Oxford had got its first suicide bomber. I found out as the helicopter located me and called up a squad car. I was beginning to feel more and more like a comic book hero. Then reality kicked in. The problem was in a hall where my parents were amongst the hostages. They had gone to a recital of Bach, in one of the colleges. A bomber then dropped his coat and was seen to be covered in a belt of explosives. He gathered hostages around himself to prevent a marksman spoiling his fun.

Why? That was the question I was asking myself as I sped along in the car towards the college. It seemed an incongruous, almost inconsequential sort of place.
So it had to be who? Who was the target? I had a horrible feeling it could be my parents. I asked the police inspector who was with me, who was in the audience. It was no one especially important in a political sense. I could be right. I felt a shiver run through me. I was pretty sure it was an attempt to get me or those dear to me. I was trying to remain calm; to control the anger and the fear which was trying to build up in me.

My next question was, What do they think I can do? I can hardly zap someone with an energy bolt if they are wrapped up in high explosive, can I ? Gee whiz, sometimes life is a real bastard!

We arrived at St Thomas’ College. Locally we call it ‘Doubting College’, after the questioning disciple. More usually, it’s a case of, ‘I doubt’ you’ve ever heard of it. It’s my dad’s college. At least it’s where he lectures, when he does lecture. This is assuming Robert Browning allows him the time to do any teaching, and he seems to do quite a lot of admin these days. He’s a reader, which is one up from a lecturer or even a senior lecturer, but less than a professor. The professor of English Literature has been off sick for months, so dad almost runs the department at the moment.

Obviously that isn’t literally true, as he’s sort of tied up with this mad bomber, but assuming we can get him out, he’ll be running the department again tomorrow.

“Captain Curtis, glad you could make it.” Said a very senior looking policeman. I had almost forgotten my temporary rank. “We’ve got the professor of Islamic studies on his way to try and talk this guy down.”

“Professor Khan, he’s a lovely old chap. Played cricket for Pakistan in his youth.” I rambled on. “If anyone can do it, I’m sure he can.”

“Quite so.” He coughed politely, “Look here Captain, I was expecting someone a bit older than you, and a man.” He looked embarrassed. “I mean, you are the Captain Curtis who helped free the ambassador the other week?”

“Which one?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” He said, “Was there more than one?”

“Apparently.” I said. “It’s rumoured the Americans also had an ambassador missing who was mysteriously freed the same night.”

“You were involved in both?” He spluttered.

“Was I? I might have been. Does it matter?”
“Look I know you chaps…” He looked at me, “Sorry you people; like to keep out of the spotlight. But can you help us here? A Colonel Bell, suggested you might be able to give us a hand.”

“Yes,” I thought, “Probably hoping I’d get myself blown up, or half of Oxford. I don’t think he likes me too much. But then it’s mutual. He thinks I’m a crazy, who has the ear of the PM. Which is probably correct. I think he is a giant arsehole with a colonel’s commission.” I tried to move my thoughts on beyond the knee jerk reflex brought on by mention of the colonel. That was a pleasing thought. My knee in a tender spot in that jerk! I brought my attention back to the present.

“Is this the Bach concert?” I asked, knowing it was.

“I believe so.”

“Good.” I said, “If it had been Beethoven, I’d have had to kill him.” He looked aghast at me. “Just joking.” I said, although I didn’t really feel at all amused. However, if they got any idea that my parents were in there; they wouldn’t let me near the place.
I mean what was my father doing there? He was a jazz nut. I suppose Bach is the most logical of all the composers, very mathematical in his structure. So was the sort of jazz my dad liked. I presume mum must have talked him into it. She could even have bought the tickets.

“What have you done so far?” I asked the unimpressed chief copper.

“Obviously sealed off the area. We’ve called for plans of the building, to see if there is any way we can sneak in to it.”

“There is. Come with me.” I led him round the back of the building. The central hall of the college is made of Portland stone, and is quite beautiful. It’s a large, domed building and has a gallery to which there is a safety access. It isn’t widely known, but my dad showed me years ago when he was directing something in a festival they hosted . It’s a bit of a squeeze to get through, but in my cycle kit, no bother for my svelte figure. The copper found it a hard job.

First we had to force the lock. Well the police did it, without any ceremony or much noise. Then up a very narrow flight of steps. To avoid advertising our presence; we had to do this in the stygian gloom which the windowless corridor offered. Through a small half door, almost a trap door; on we crawled feeling our way. Then, though another door, and we were in a small gallery which ran around the edge of the dome of the hall. About forty or fifty feet up, we could see quite well the group of people surrounding a central person. The central one, we couldn’t see much of at all.

The Israeli army deals with suicide bombers by shooting them several times in the head. It works by killing them before they can detonate their explosives. It is high risk. If the shots aren’t on target, the bomb goes off. If they are carrying a grenade, pin out, it doesn’t work either.

Instinct told me the bomber wasn’t working alone. Now; were I Superman, I could use my X-ray vision to see who else was rigged up. Sadly, I’m not the caped one. Mind you my form of dress would look bizarre enough to an outsider looking down on us; cycling shirt and shorts.

“There’s got to be another one. One on his own would have just blown himself up.”

“Yes, I thought it was a bit odd,” said the chief copper.

“That woman, over in the corner by the door. She looks a bit strange, compared to the others.” I said. I don’t know why I said it, but there was something not quite right about her.

“I think I see what you mean. She’s all huddled up with her hands in her pockets, and it’s hardly cold is it?”

“She would also cause mayhem to any rescuer going in through the main door.”

“She would, not to mention civilian casualties,” agreed the chief cop.

I felt my mind wanting to drift. Something else here was not right. There was a third, but my remote viewing was being blocked. Someone knew I was here, but who?
“I feel there’s another one here as well.”

“Can you see him?” Asked the cop.

“No, but he knows I’m here.”

“How could he, no one has seen us yet.?”

“Call it intuition or instinct. I have a strong sense of it; which is why I’m here. My opponent has a similar sense of me. Don’t ask me to explain it, just accept it.”

“If I do will it make life any safer for the people down there, or my men trying to rescue them?”

“I don’t know. It may or may not. You see, I am probably the target.”

“What? Why all this then?”

“Because they knew I would come.”

“I hate to disagree with you. From where I am, I can see three hundred reasons for being here. How could he know we’d send for you?”

“My parents are in the audience.”

“What down there?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“If I do, they’ll kill many of the hostages and have to find another way to get me, thereby putting more innocents at risk.”

“Are you trying to tell me, this is a set up to get you, because I don’t believe it?”

“Sorry, but it is. You don’t know how special I am.”

“Look here young lady, no one is that special.”

“Look behind you, but keep absolutely still when you do.” He turned round and came nose to nose with a large lioness. As I felt him tense, I made it disappear.

White and shaking, he turned to see me decked out as an angel, complete with flying gear. He went even whiter. “Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed under his breath. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I am not Jesus. Who I am or what I am is not important. But we are dealing with someone just as clever down there. However, I’m with the good guys, he isn’t. He alas; is with the ‘Dark Side’.

“Don’t tell me he’s Darth Fucking Vader? ‘Cos it sounds like Star Wars.”

“If I said his energy was Qlipphotic; would you be any the wiser?”

“No, I guess not. What is all this about?”

“The battle between good and evil.”

“Do we win in the last reel?”

“I hope so, especially for the sake of my parents.”

“You are serious, your parents are down there?”

“Deadly serious. Yes; my mother and father are down there.”

“What’s with the angel outfit? Are you an angel?”

“Never mind who or what I am, our task is to get those people out safely and neutralise the danger.”

“Absolutely.”

“For my enemies, I am the Angel of Death. Let us say a pal of Mikael.”

“I can’t believe this is happening?”

“Don’t worry Chief Superintendent, once it’s over you and all the others will forget it ever happened.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I shall have to write a report on it.”

“Believe me, you won’t.” I replied, he still looked very pale, but it could have been the light coming from the dome.

The police were bringing up marksmen to take out the bombers if the need arose. I wasn’t going to argue, but I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Suddenly the place was rocked by noise. Someone was playing the organ, ‘Jesu joy of man’s desiring.’ At least it was Bach. It’s incongruence was astonishing, but something else was trying to enter my mind. Then a single shot was fired, we didn’t see by whom and the music stopped. There was screaming from down below. The top cop, was now very anxious.

“Look, we can’t just sit here and wait for them to kill everyone. I’m going to order an assault.”

“If you do, then you will kill many people.”

“But someone has just been shot.”

“Yes I know, pity, their playing wasn’t that bad.”

“How can you be so callous about it. Someone is dead or injured.”

“Are they?” I asked. “Did you see them shot?”

“No, how could I? We’re unsighted up here.”

“Interesting isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, that’s what’s so interesting.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Yes some while ago. It will be light for another two or three hours, we need to act before then. If it gets dark, they will be stronger and I will be less able to stop them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. You sit nice and still and forget what you are about to see.”

I slipped back down the passageway as he and the marksmen sat with eyes on stalks as the hall began to fill with strange creatures. Lionesses appeared from nowhere, men with falcon heads walked through the walls, a man with a jackal’s head appeared from behind a pillar. Above them flew an angel, a brilliant white figure holding a flaming sword.

The audience were as astonished as the police, at the circus which was appearing all around them. I managed to borrow some jeans and a sweater and wore them over my cycle kit. I slipped in through the door. People were falling about in trances, or sitting believing the end of the world was about to happen. If I got it wrong it could, for them at any rate.

The two bombers were as transfixed as the others. I simply walked up to them and with a small sleight of hand, made them unconscious for the duration. Then walking towards the organ, I said. “Welcome Oliver. It is you isn’t it?”

The man lying in front of the organ sat up. “I thought it was a bit over dramatic, but it made something happen. I knew you were here; Jamie.”

“Why are you here?” I asked Oliver.

“To destroy you of course.”

“Shame you wasted your time and spoiled their concert.”

“Oh I don’t think so Jamie. Prepare to meet your maker.”

In a loud bang, he began to turn into a figure composed of large black snakes. I had a sense of déjà vu. He began to grow becoming easily ten foot tall. The snakes began to writhe towards me. I stepped back, and as I did so felt myself growing, my solar disc was powering up even though the sun was beginning to set.

A large snake moved towards me, I grew even larger and my glance caused it to wither. I was drawing in so much energy, it was easy. Too easy. It was a trap.