The Rebirth of Pan | Page 4

keep Christianity alive by stopping me!" He can't hold me
for long, not against my will. Or at least, I don't think so. This is the
first time I've ever felt real magic in the realised world. It is strange.
"Keeping Christianity alive is the last thing on my mind, believe me."
The voice chuckles in my head.
"Then what the hell do you want?" I demand, confused. "It is so nearly
dead anyway. And killing it now, like this..."
"Will serve no ends but that of violence. Violence here, and now, like
this, would set the pattern for the new age as bad or worse than even
this past age has been. You would give us an age of hate. I am taking
away your choice, for this moment, in the hope of an age of choice."
"Nothing could be worse!" I insist, though his soft ironic voice sounds
in my head so very sure. And then I am free, I can move. My finger
tightens, and hesitates again. It is too late, the moment has passed, He
has lowered His head, my bullet unfired, killing him now would only
be murder, not deicide. Like all the other times. It would achieve

nothing. The voice does not reply. I look around frantically. Nobody is
looking at me. They are praying to the blood of the sacrificial lamb
again. It is over. Too late. I am weeping. That doesn't look strange,
plenty of people are weeping. I could still kill him. But I don't. I can't
see the wizard, whoever he is. I stand up.
The actors by the cross are wailing. I glance about for the woman with
the gold cross, not that it matters any more. I don't see her. People are
crying, and praying, and some of the tourists are starting to leave. The
priest goes up to the actor on the cross. I've persuaded myself so well
that I still more than half think of Him as the Son of Man. His head
hangs limp. He's very convincing. Too late. The others will cast me out
and curse me. I expect I'll die. Someone can try again in three years.
All my focus is gone. I don't know what to do. I stand up and take a
few steps away. I never thought I'd leave this place alive, not by my
own will.
There is a cry behind me, and I turn. The priest is calling for the doctor.
People are fussing over the man on the cross. The body on the cross?
They are cutting him down and he is hanging very limp. Nobody could
act that well. He must have fainted. I walk back, slowly, through the
fine yellow dust that sticks to my shoes. The crowd are confused, I
among them. A siren in the distance, drawing closer, an ambulance.
"No pulse!" a young woman whispers loudly to a companion, in
English. Then the cry goes up: "Mortos!" "E vero! Mortos!" Dead?
Dead in truth? But how? I didn't--it doesn't make sense. I walk towards
the cross, pushing through the crowd. My head pounds. How can he be
dead? Did he die anyway? Did I do it by force of will without knowing?
Or was I not needed? Does this count? I want to speak to Claude and
see if he can work it out.
The ambulance arrives, screeching to a halt with a disdain for road
safety I've already picked up in two days as typically Italian. People
leap out of the way. The crowd are weeping and wailing on a much
more authentic note now. The medics push through with a stretcher,
and pick up the body. An arm hangs limp over the side as they carry it
back. Again I am reminded of religious pictures, pietas. The bright

afternoon sunlight is too much for oils, but just right for the
illustrations to children's stories. The men close the doors and drive
away, leaving a stink of exhaust cutting across the smells of dust and
sweat. Modern medicine will not close him in the tomb if he is not dead,
nor leave him with a stone that may be turned if he is. I can hardly take
it in. Across the crowd I see the woman with the cross enfolded
weeping against the chest of the man with the guidebook. He looks at
me over her head, and grins. Grins? Is he the Irish wizard? I need to
talk to him. I try to move towards him, but the crowd is in the way.
Soon I stop, surrounded by people. I can't move or see him any more.
Was that magic? I shake my head and scuff my feet in the yellow dust.
I'm still confused. I don't know what to trust, I'm