A Circle of Celebrations: The Complete Edition, page 5
Pride’s job hadn’t been so hard in the past. People he tempted confessed more readily to their sins. He put it down to less enthusiastic church-going and a belief that nothing they did had any consequences. Hurricane Katrina had pushed people back to the congregations in droves once they had lost everything, but they were drifting away again, even though they were still unsatisfied and unfulfilled. It was strange, but humanity felt as if it was dead inside. They came to New Orleans and Mardi Gras to try and feel alive. These were the ones Pride hoped he could reach. He touched his crop to his horse’s flank to hurry her up. He didn’t want to miss the Rex parade. That was the big one.
Pride drove his beautiful carriage into a nook on Bourbon Street that to mortals looked no larger than a mail slot, and emerged into a sunlit courtyard surrounded by white marble walls and fluted pillars. New Orleans was full of passages into the real world. This was the entrance to his domain. There was room enough for fifty carriages inside, or anything else he wanted stowed there, though he had no need of storage space. His horse dislimned in a burst of brilliant white light, and the carriage dissolved in shadows. He could summon anything he wanted into being, temporarily or permanently, a skill he admitted he was proud of. Over his shoulder, he noticed a twenty-something young man with dark skin who had followed him in. The youth looked at the place where the horse and carriage had stood, then at the glass in his hand, and scrambled back out of the entrance. Pride grinned.
Pride took his place at the top of the parade route so he could see every single float that passed, every band, every dancer. Envy was the one who had started the contest among the Manifestations for each to get as many souls secured as he or she could. Greed and Gluttony had rushed to second the notion. Pride usually won the contest at festivals, because they were usually celebrations of a mortal’s affiliations, whether of ethnicity, gender or interest. He and Anger shared the honor at political conventions. That almost made up for Greed’s absolute hold on Christmas. He could see her taking her place about half a block down, with a good view of a three-story house with iron railings where shapely female exhibitionists were already flashing their breasts at the crowd. Up and down went the scanty t-shirts, to the delighted roars of men and not a few women and Lust. The big, well-built male Manifestation was red-faced with pleasure. He had a girl in each arm. His hands traveled up and down their bodies, bringing them to writhing, near orgasmic, pleasure. They didn’t care who saw them. Lust did a thriving trade in alleyway sex during Mardi Gras as well as the flashers, not to mention the strip clubs and professional hookers who plied their wares in doorways and windows around the Quarter. Pride could already see the glow, invisible to mere humans, that said Lust was having a productive day.
Sloth was somewhere around, accumulating followers of his own. He loved the parade-goers because they were there to enjoy themselves by doing the least possible and still have the most fun. The entertainment was there for them to enjoy without having to lift a finger. The weather was good, and you barely had to stretch out a hand to secure a drink, or a bead necklace, or a partner to dance with. Pride felt the easy pleasure of Sloth’s influence spread out over the crowd. New Orleans’s longtime motto was “Laissez les bon temps roulez,” or, translated from the local Franglish, “Let the good times roll.”
And roll on they did.
The jazz bands of New Orleans had been legendary, and rightly so. After the hurricane, musicians had been slow to return, but there were plenty of them this year. The lead float of the Rex parade was led by a cadre of horns and woodwinds, all in the hands of old and middle-aged men, most of them African-American, dressed in sherbet-colored satin suits with derby hats to match, dancing and jiving as they progressed along Bourbon.
Behind them came the face of a dragon. It looked fierce and proud, painted in rainbows of color but predominantly the purple, green, and gold of Mardi Gras, and sparkling with rows and swirls of lights that blinked and rolled in rhythm, making the dragon look as if he was dancing to the music. Above the face, the king and queen of Rex, resplendent in white satin and masked in feathers, waved to the crowd from the lofty perch of their float; their court, also gorgeously dressed and arrayed around them also waved. The King of Rex and his consort had been chosen from among their krewe as the supreme embodiment of justice and authority. Their very stance showed how much they enjoyed their position of honor. Pride drank in their self-esteem and fed it back to them in waves.
Live for it, he told them. Bask in it. You deserve every moment of it. You are better than all of those who worship you. The king’s back straightened, and the queen’s long, slender neck seemed to lengthen further. Good, Pride thought. That’ll hold you through the day. He saw them on their way, glowing with ego. His talent worked best on those most receptive to it. Envy couldn’t touch them. They were real royalty for this day.
Lust had chosen the same couple as a focus. His hot red energy surrounded and suffused the court. A few of the princesses shifted uncomfortably on their flower-strewn benches. The king and queen eyed one another from behind their masks, their glances promising a dynastically good time later on. Pride grinned.
Greed hopped up and down on her narrow spike heels, beckoning the court to throw beads to her. She and those around her she had charmed were already festooned with enough sparkling throws to break their backs, but they must have more, armloads more. She worked her wiles upon the crowd, until they were shrieking in expectation at the riders on the float, demanding necklaces and doubloons. Pride watched with caution. Another of Envy’s contests was to see how many humans they could take away from one another. Pride found it counterproductive and seldom participated in it. Sloth, flabby and proud of it, could rarely be bothered to fight for mortals. He lounged on a second-floor balcony with a host of onlookers who were just enjoying the view. Pride couldn’t sense Anger anywhere. Mardi Gras was frequently a disappointment to his red-eyed friend, with so many people getting into the spirit of good times. He was pleased to see that the Rex court was unaffected by Greed. Regally, they tossed rope after shining rope of beads and handfuls of gold coins to her minions, enjoying the pleasure they spread.
The Rex parade ended and was succeeded by Zulu, then Orpheus, Bacchus, Saturn, and a dozen other krewes, all filling Bourbon Street with music and glitter. Pride found willing followers in each one. He was pleased and satisfied with himself. The crowd swelled larger and larger until when the music of the last jazz band faded away, it filled the twilit streets. Gluttony and Lust took over, sending the multitude in search of other forms of satisfaction. Gluttony had found turtle soup and crawfish étouffée somewhere, because the rich, heady aromas filled the air. Greed was for the moment sated, lost under a shining cloak of beads. Sloth lolled on his balcony, waves of laziness rolling out from him.
At nightfall, Pride left them to their pleasures. Wearing an impeccable evening suit and a purple mask he had picked up in sixteenth century Venice, he slipped into the first of the elegant balls, at the Art Museum. Exclusivity drew him. The people who were privileged to pass through the doors, past the hoi polloi, were already prideful. He fed their egos, giving them a sense that they were more worthy, more exalted, and just plain better than the man on the street. No matter that in their normal lives they were plumbers and store clerks; tonight they were the elite, with over a hundred years of history behind them. He sailed into masquerades, dinners, dances, and discos, buoying the pride that each man and woman had in themselves and the spirit of the day.
Envy’s mortals hung around the doors of the same hotels, wishing with all their hearts that they could pass through those portals and into the exalted enclaves, resenting those who could. Pride patted Envy on the shoulder as he went by. She shot him such a look of hate that he felt pity for her.
In the Orpheus party, masked dancers filled the room, but the walls were lined with tables manned by catering staff dressed in waistcoats and white gloves. They helped the guests to an opulent buffet of food and drink ranging from jambalaya to beignets, champagne to whisky. Gluttony, a plate in each hand and one balanced on each arm, gave him a nod from behind a gold pig’s mask. Pride sampled a taste of each dish, bestowed well-deserved compliments and energy upon the caterers, and departed for the next party. He crossed paths with all of his companions at one party or another. Greed danced with a wealthy man wearing huge diamond cufflinks on his ruffled French cuffs. She wore a priceless gold necklace taken from a dead king of Persia over eight centuries before. Each coveted the other’s treasure. Pride could see they were blissfully happy.
Lust was in the corner of every ballroom, whispering suggestions into the ears of masked couples who stole moments away from their mates or chaperones. Sloth lolled at his leisure on couches surrounded by those who had eaten, drunk or danced their fill and didn’t want to bestir themselves further. Envy appeared at the shoulder of servers who waited upon the honored guests but were never part of the party. She, too, was amassing followers within doors as well as without.
To Pride’s surprise and relief, Anger was absent from any of the events he attended. Everyone was being well-behaved and temperate. With so much alcohol and stimulation, it was … unnatural. Anger could not have ignored the divine summons to service there in New Orleans, nor would he lack adherents. The streets were full of drunks spoiling for a fight after Gluttony filled them with liquid courage. Midnight would strike soon, when the holy time of Ash Wednesday descended, offering peace and salvation to those who embraced the divine strictures of self-denial and penance.
Then he felt it. The sensation was so strong he did not understand how he had missed it. Red-brown waves of fury and hatred washed into the room, so that even couples paired by Lust stopped to look at one another in suspicion. Pride was beside himself with outrage. Anger had no right to ruin events for him!
Time and distance were no barriers to communication with his fellow Manifestations.
“Anger!” he demanded, knowing his voice would reach the other’s ears. “Stop it at once!”
“I can’t!” Anger growled. “Come out and help me!”
Pride was so astonished that he didn’t make a sour comment about the other’s attack of humility. He rushed out of the ball. As he passed Greed, he took her by the arm.
“I almost had those diamonds,” she complained.
“Anger needs us. He is outside.”
Greed’s mouth dropped open with shock. Abandoning her quarry, she undulated toward the buffet table and removed Gluttony from his leisurely perusal of the dessert trays.
“Enough!” she commanded. “Go find Sloth. We need him.”
“Oh, have pity!” he wailed. “I need my nourishment before it’s too late. Midnight is striking.”
Indeed it was, Pride remarked. Bells in church towers all over the city began to peal, a cascade of commanding tones to the revelers to give up their earthly pleasures, in anticipation and certain hope of the heavenly treasures that would await them. Pride rushed out of the door of the hotel, into a shouting crowd. A couple of men were fighting in the street, with the others egging them on. Police on horseback were advancing on them, the water cannons that cleared detritus off the pavement in their wake. The men paid no attention. But a lone fistfight wasn’t enough to cause despair in one of the seven deadly Sins.
Pride spotted Envy in the crowd.
“Where is Anger?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “He feels as if he is everywhere.”
It did feel as if the entire city was filled with rage. The water cannons blew the garbage to the gutters, but to Pride’s amazement, they could not knock over the two men brawling. He had never seen such a thing before. Their anger kept them upright against the torrent. When police moved in to try and remove them, the men pulled them down out of their saddles and began to attack them. The police struggled to their feet, ankle deep in water, and started pounding their aggressors.
The last chime of midnight rolled, and the sky fell silent. Pride waited. The fight should stop now. Anger’s influence should fade, as would each of the other Manifestations, but it didn’t. More people waded into the battle, some to rescue the police and some to defend the original combatants.
Anger was not there, but his influence overspread the city. Pride turned his back on the fight and headed toward the strongest feeling of fury. It came from the direction of the riverfront. Gesturing to the others to follow, he pursued it. Once Pride crossed Chartres into Jackson Square, he found the center of the emotional maelstrom. A crowd of thousands of people, all punching and pushing one another, jammed the grassy square at the center, thronged the cobblestoned streets, and threw one another up against the gracious buildings that ringed them. Every color, male and female, straight and gay, striking out in every direction, their voices raised in absolute fury.
“You ran away when the hurricane hit!” an old black woman shouted at a uniformed policeman, striking him in the chest with a bony forefinger. “I was stuck in my attic for three days!”
“The drug lords took over!” he bellowed back. “They shot at us. They shot at our goddamned helicopter. We were trying to help save you! No one helped us.”
A burly white man in jeans and a plaid shirt pushed between them. “We wanted to help! We drove for hours to be here. We brought our goddamned fire truck and all our medical supplies. Our town needed it, but we came here! And a hell of a lot of thanks we got.”
The old woman took him on as well. “You think we wanted to stay? They shut us in the stupid, cursed Superdome that fell apart over our heads. You said you would shoot us if we crossed the bridge.”
A slender man in tight jeans and an open lame shirt regarded them all with rage. “Aren’t you ever gonna get over the damned hurricane? We’ve all moved on!”
A black teenager took him by the shoulder and spun him around. “How dare you think we can just move on? Like it didn’t never happen? We live here!”
“So what? That gives you any special privileges?” More people got into the argument.
“What do you out-of-towners think you’re doing, coming in here and pissing on our streets? Do you think we’re some kinda frickin’ Disney World? You throw you hurricane cups all over the place and you insult our women? This is our heritage!”
“You call this a real town? This is an amusement park!”
“You all ate up all kinds of resources, and you don’t even get jobs!”
“You think we don’t want jobs? We want jobs and decent houses, and you want us to leave half our city as empty lots when we have a housing shortage?”
And from every one of them, a challenge to the others who faced them: “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Pent up anger rolled out in waves. Untapped oceans of hatred and fear and resentment had been boiling beneath the surface here for years. Pride had not even suspected it. He withdrew his influence wherever he could, so the combatants weren’t acting out of mere ego, but it didn’t dampen a single temper. He had to find Anger.
He was in the middle of a huge crowd brawling in the middle of the square. Police on horseback were trying to drive them away, but they were not backing down.
“Anger!” Pride shouted. “Stop! Midnight has struck!”
Anger’s eyes were glowing red. He stood with fists clenched, as though he was unaware of the mayhem around him. Pride tried to reach him, but Anger was concentrating too deeply.
“Someone wake him up,” he ordered.
Lust, Gluttony, Envy and Greed looked at once another.
“Oh, hell’s doormat, all right,” said Sloth. A wave of relaxation flowed out of the tubby form, causing fighting humans all around them to drop their fists and back away, panting. Anger’s eyes faded to their normal russet color.
“What took you so long?”
Pride drew himself up haughtily and glared.
“What did you do?” he demanded. “You’re ruining Mardi Gras! These mortals were supposed to have one final, joyful evening then spend tomorrow on their knees, for their souls’ sake! It should have started already!” He pointed at the clock, which showed ten past midnight.
“I want them on their knees,” Lust said, grinning ferally.
“Shut up,” said Envy. Pride knew how hard it was for her to find a mate. She was never satisfied with the ones she found, always feeling that someone better was not far away.
“This is a powder keg,” Anger said, and Pride could tell that, perversely, he was enjoying it. “These people are almost more furious than they were in the race riots in Los Angeles. Or the Taiwanese parliament! Or the French Revolution!” He leered with pleasure.
Pride smacked him across the face. Anger gaped. “Snap out of it! This is out of control. It will become the French Revolution in a while. What happens when all the parties in the hotels and pubs end and the riverboats dock, and the guests try to go home? Through this? Bring it to an end! You know the laws. Divine retribution will follow, not only for these mortals, but for us! We will cease to exist in this place. We don’t belong here any longer. Can you see what is building here? Can you hear them?” Pride exclaimed. “They’ll burn this city to the ground. They deserve better than another disaster. Let their emotions return to normal levels.”
Envy was scornful. “Deserve? Since when does deserve lead to get?”
