The Greater Good

The bad news was expected.

What precisely it would be, was not known, but its coming was expected. There had been a shift in the wind; the air too humid, the sky too grey. Dark winds bring dark words, as the common wisdom goes – a wisdom commented on by scholars, nans, and priests alike this day. It is no coincidence that rain is the backdrop for sadness for movies and plays, or that thunder brings an innate fear regardless of how close one is to comfort, warmth and shelter. By some divinity, or animal instinct, it was known that something bad was about to happen, even if the ‘what’, and the ‘how’ were unknown. (“Strange weather we are having.” “Careful now, dark winds, bring dark words.”)

Then came the whispers: His Holiness was dead.

The response: “Dead? Surely not. With the ceremony so close? Where did you hear this from?” And the answers of from ‘a cousin’ (“Cousin Berty is always believing things he ought not to be believing”) or from ‘a friend at work’ (“Likely story!”) or from this person who heard it from another, all sources that we easily dismissible – all except that deep-seated feeling of dread that something terrible had happened that confirmed all suspicions.

Then the news reported that there were rumors yet to be confirmed that perhaps indeed, his Holiness had died, but there was no need to panic, which prompted much panic as temples and monasteries were flooded with much prayer that one expected the divinity itself to materialize into being from the spiritual power of the crowd. Tears that could start a war and wailing that could wake the dead soon followed, as news was confirmed, his Holiness was missing, that police were looking, and that any information on his whereabouts was welcome – which resulted in many questions (“How can His Holiness be missing?”) many comments (“Typical.”) and stereotypes (“This is what happens when they are picked young.”) Then, there was more waiting, more prayer, and the crowd grew restless. Food stalls begun appearing around the temples, and there was much debate about whether or not this should be permissible so close to holy land, the end result of which was indecisive for the policy reason that the government would have to feed the crowds if they began kicking out the food stalls (“Who cares?”). Appearances had to be maintained, naturally, so in instances where E. Coli outbreaks or dysentery was reported, or where the smell was getting too much, police did act. And the entire country held its breath and waited.

On the 2024^th year of our Lord, September 10^th, 9:00 p.m. a hush traveled through the country as priests garbed in white silks and forlorn expression stepped before the crowd. Words were spoken, and as they were uttered, a roar split the earth as the crowd leapt to their feet and there was much jubilation and hugging and shaking of hands. Men the size of oaks fell to their knees and praised the Lord. Newly-made mothers clasped their husbands and announced that their child’s name would now be Louis. Strangers became friends, and drinks were held high to Louis, the Undying. Louis, the Immortal One. Louis, the Reborn. Then came the cajoling (“See, I told you so.”) as old women clenching pearls were dismissed as no more than superstitious worriers willing into being some unfulfilled, misguided image of self-importance. Then came the attacks on the scholars who had questioned the central role of religion in society – of which the great Professor Kimble was stabbed in broad daylight in the street for calling out the immoralities of our culture. All legend is now fact, the resurrection of Louis (“the Great”, “the Strong”, “the Magnificent”) proves it. A candle vigil funeral for Professor Kimble was held. Riots occurred despite police presence.

Questions were asked in the aftermath. (“How could a newly selected religious leader go missing mere days after their selection?” “Why was he not found immediately?” “Why had it taken so long to find him?”) Most of all were the demands for an interview, breaking centuries of tradition. No, the people would not be satisfied with the usual PR, HR, and legalese standard response that was being given. Sacrifices had been made in order to bring back his Holiness, and while these sacrifices were the relinquishing of goods that a person of faith should not be attached to begin with, the loss of property nonetheless meant the much-felt degradation of this current life, which could push some, and indeed had already, to not being worthy to move onto the next life. An animal sacrifice made now meant less food for the table. The sacrifice of gold or silver meant a loss of confidence. And the sacrifices of other calibers… let’s just say they led to much shame. So, crowds gathered and asked the questions. Deafening silence was the response. Pundits took no time to shame the crowds, (“Outrageous to even make such a demand.”) more scholars were attacked. Schools were shut down temporarily due to the riots and parents took to social media to complain that could no longer go to work because they were looking after their children, and that they couldn’t work from home because of their children, which meant that they couldn’t feed their children, or stand their spouse for not pulling their weight. Such concerns were largely ignored.

The greatest question of all: Was there still a need for the ceremony? His Holiness by all accounts had died (“Found dead starved in a barn.” “Decapitated by a butcher knife falling from a window.” “Drowned in a lake.”) and no amount of ‘rationality’ or ‘logic’ could override that fact as firm as the birds in the sky. His Holiness had died and was now alive, and surely it would be bad luck to go through with ceremony when every act, every story, every symbol necessary to confirm his legitimacy as the embodiment of the spiritual power on Earth was made. Who were priests, kings, and queens, to interfere in matters so sacred? Were they not beholden to him? What need was there for ceremony?

But of course, such stories were merely anecdotal, again spoken by some cousin, friend of a friend, and the arguments refuted as such on said premise – anecdotal; frivolous. The ceremony would go on, but the murmurs did not cease. On the Great Day, every detail of Louis (“the scarred” “the frightened” “the young”) was scrutinized. Initially ignored, then met with a hostile glance and a shush, but soon even such extreme measures were not enough to dissuade those that chose to see.

“Why is he so short?”

“He didn’t always have a freckle there, did he?”

“Why is his nose so big?”

“Who is this stranger in a place reserved for only the mighty?”

Whoever the young boy was, did not flinch when he saw the batons dispensing their purpose upon the loudest of the crowds, he did not balk at the blood spilled, nor cover his ears to the hollow screams. He walked with head held high towards his destiny, a podium with one wooden slab embroidered with gold thread, detailing the great deed he was about to do. He looked towards the grey sky as a red cape was fastened around his neck, and felt the shift of the winds and the humidity in the air. Down his cheek, a single tear fell.

The boy nods. While his words are lost by the distance, the crowd knows what he has said. The blood is spilled and all return to their normal lives. The history annuls will say that Louis made the ultimate sacrifice for his country, that is enough. The sacrifice was made, it does not matter who, it was all for the greater good.