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The biennial Festival of Renewal was the day upon which the order of the life of
Dentonsville was based. Though it had been promulgated long ago as a means of easing
the transition of the community from one Pastor to the next, it had become through the
years a day on which the hopes and anxieties of all the people of the town could be
expressed freely, unrestricted by all the usual laws. The settled people of the town regarded themselves as civilized, sensible individuals. They firmly believed that superstitions were confined to the 'Men Apart', but this was not so. The truth was that both groups had their myths and superstitions and in many ways those of the 'Men Apart' were more rational. The settled people were typical farmers. Their religion was their superstition and it propagated like their crops. Based on order and reproducibility, it grew the same set of ears at the same time each season and, though it paid lip service to nature and the natural world, in fact, being a farmer's creed, it considered beneficial only those parts of nature which served its purpose and implicitly condoned destruction on a vast scale. These people were gullible and naive. They were willing to believe whatever their church wanted them to: ready-made, packaged explanations, by definition beyond doubt, immutable and without recourse. They believed implicitly in the ceremony of Renewal, which was linked in their religion to the long ago coming of a savior, who returned on the wings of angels. Thus, they never questioned the validity of the Great Bird which flew in to take the Pastor back to God and bring another, though it looked little like a bird, had wings that did not flap and made a tremendous noise. It could be argued that they believed because they must: the implications of non-belief were to terrible to contemplate. But, the hunters were the hunted, living closer to the reality of this world, though their lives were too dangerous to allow much scope for reflection. They were not gullible, though they had many mysteries of their own. The lives of the 'Men Apart' were inhabited by ghosts. In the forest along with the bears, the wolves, the cougars, the turkeys, the deer and all the other animals, they believed there stalked the ghosts of humans, lost souls from the many centuries of life preceding. To them, every mouse and chipmunk was a spirit, every breath of wind an eye-less Demon of the Past, and every snap of twig or rustle of the undergrowth marked the unseen passage of a soul. They believed that every single hickory tree was haunted: sooner or later if you dug down deep enough beneath it you would reach the cellar ghost below and he would come up at you with a wail and a cry which would stay with you forever. And there were places in the wilderness where the mouths of great pipes loomed, where if a man wished to be safe he must cross himself three times, say the invocation to the Demons, then knock on the inside of the pipe, calling to him to those who lived beyond not to worry, no harm was meant. They had many legends concerning the weather. If the sky was filled with puffy clouds on Renewal day they would say that all the people of the past had got themselves a grandstand seat and were set to enjoy the show; or, if the sky was clear that the people of the past had all gone to Heaven and were having a Renewal of their own; if it rained gently: the Demons were crying for their souls; if it thundered and rained heavily they said that God was punishing the past and they were reliving their own deaths - the thunder was their cries of pain and the rain their tears. But when the wind blew strongly from the north and west and the air came scudding from the forest then the people of the past were fleeing in their millions from the terrors of their lives and that though they would like to stop and watch they could not. Then, the howling in the trees was their plaintive cries for help. Still, the 'Men Apart' played the game of the Festival of Renewal. To them it was what it claimed to be and to a man (and woman) they gathered on this one day every two years in the Mission Square to celebrate the spring. In the morning they formed a procession from the enclave, the men walking in groups of four, dressed as animals or spirits of the dead. They all could be found who, on the darkest nights, were known to creep about the ruins of the forest: the Man with Four Eyes, the Evil Murderer, the Lady of the Shoes, the Vampire, the Old Hag of the Mountains, the Bride who was Torn in Half and, of course the Devil and the Fool. As the 'Men Apart' came down the road they whistled a spirited tune from, it was said, the first War there ever was in these parts, six hundred years or more ago, and the farmers children crowded eagerly by the roadside to watch them pass while their mothers restrained them from coming too close and shuddered with distaste and fear. Once the procession reached the Mission Square tables were set up and fortunes were told, palms were read and heads were examined. There were jugglers, dancers and actors; free drink and food was dispensed, courtesy of the town together with the illicit trade in weak beer and trinkets. Most popular of all were the storytelling booths where old men and women sat relating wild and fascinating tales which the townsfolk pretended to disbelieve and went off shaking their bewildered, gullible heads. At four o'clock precisely the Great Bird arrived. The 'Men Apart' were well aware of its approach long before it was heard or seen by the other townsfolk and the crowd fell silent, moving to the edges of the Square, the townsfolk on one side, the 'Men Apart' on the other. Eventually the Bird's noise became apparent to all and then they saw it, high in the sky, descending obliquely from the west as always. Soon everyone was shielding their eyes from the dust before it settled and was quiet. Wearing his finest robes, carrying a golden staff and accompanied by the Sisters, the Rev. Zawicki stepped from the door in the Mission wall. He approached the Bird, passing beneath its wing then ritually struck its side three times with the staff, which created a magical noise, somehow magnified by the shell of the machine, carrying far across the town. In response, the bells of the Church began to ring. Then a door opened in the Bird and the new Pastor emerged, equally resplendent, accompanied by the Winged Messenger. The two Pastors shook hands without much ceremony and together returned to the Mission while the Messenger stood impassively, arms folded, feet apart and visible to all a few feet from the plane. Once the Pastors had disappeared the crowd began to buzz quietly. The settled people viewed the scene with an air of reverence, overawed by the presence of the giant Messenger, the sun glinting on his silver armor and the winged helmet which covered his head completely. For them there was no question of what these things before them represented: they were considered holy and revered as such. On the other side of the Square there were fewer such illusions and a few souls with personal experience shuddered at the sight, though there were very few like old Thomas who had actually encountered one of these machines or the men who rode them and lived to tell the tale of them. How they had eyes like hawks that could see a man from high up, through trees and walls and even ten feet below the ground; how they brought fire and death as well as Pastors. Eventually, after more than an hour the two men the Shopkeeper had designated to carry the Pastors things emerged from the Mission wall pushing a trolley containing the departing Pastors things, followed by the two Pastors, now in more practical garb. The men pushed the trolley only so far towards the Messenger and the Bird before they were completely overcome with fear. The Pastors tried to cajole them onwards and the crowd was amused - this was all an expected part of the ritual - and they cheered when the two men finally ran off in terror, leaving the Pastors to complete the task. Somehow the trolley disappeared into the Bird to be replaced by another containing the new Pastor's belongings. Then the Pastors shook hands again and one stepped back, struggling with his trolley. The Winged Messenger bowed to the Pastor who, preoccupied, ignored him, then disappeared into the Bird. It began to whine and the dust to blow once more and quickly lifted off and disappeared to the west. The new Pastor signaled to someone, anyone, to help him with his things. An hour after sunset the Mission Square was empty. |
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