A Circle of Celebrations Read online

  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, 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?”

  “Always!” screeched Greed. “Always!”

  Pride sighed. The problem with Sins was that each of them had their own agenda. He always held himself as their unofficial leader, but that hierarchy could be turned in a moment. Anger was poised to take command from him.

  “It will fade,” Anger said, but he looked uncertain. “It is fading.”

  A wild scream interrupted them. Men near them sprang apart as a body in their midst fell to the ground. A knife was planted in its chest. Police clubbed their way through to the
scene of the murder. More fights were breaking out over whose fault it was. Pride set his lips in a grim cast.

  “End it. End it now. Dawn is coming.”

  “Don’t lecture me!”

  “They’re your followers. You’re responsible for them. And you asked for our help.”

  Anger glared at him, but nodded. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Pride could sense it as the Manifestation withdrew his influence. His own temper cooled to its ordinary placid dignity. He looked around, waiting for calm to overtake the crowd.

  It didn’t. The fighting raged on with the same intensity. The Manifestations were surrounded by faces running with blood, and more pointless arguments erupted. A loud crash sounded from the end of the square, and Greed let out a shriek.

  “They are destroying the stores! They aren’t stealing, they are ruining! What a waste of all those goodies! Stop them, stop them!”

  “I can’t,” Anger said, his teeth gritted.

  “They want what they can’t have,” Envy said. “Peace of mind. We are superfluous to them now. They enter the new day with no repentance. They will all be damned!”

  “Forget damned, they’re hurting each other,” Sloth said. “What happened to letting the good times roll?”

  “Is that all you ever think about, you lazy galoot?” asked Lust.

  “Of course. What else?”

  Anger turned to Pride. “What should we do?”

  “Can we distract them? Put their minds on something else? Will that break the rage?”

  Anger nodded, his hot brown eyes burning as he listened to the hearts of his followers. “It should.”

  “Circle around him,” he ordered the others. Envy glared, but obeyed. The six joined hands and concentrated on spreading their own influence. Pride reached out to the adherents he could sense in the growing throng. They must consider their own dignity now, he told them. “You are too far above this to resort to name-calling and assault. Draw back. Return to your homes. Maintain calm and set an example.”

  Across the square, those in whom pride was the strongest dropped their fists and backed away from their opponents. If their rivals were surprised, it added to the feeling of the prideful ones that they were making the best decision. They started to withdraw.

  Then Envy’s aura touched his, infiltrated it.. The humans in Pride’s cadre felt their self-esteem grow, but they began to doubt whether they were as well regarded as they felt they ought to be. No one should stand above them! Anger reasserted itself, in spite of the Manifestation’s inaction. Fights were rejoined. A large, heavy African-American immediately ahead of him drew his arm back and socked his opponent, an equally hefty white man. The second man fell, working his jaw.

  Pride broke out of his trance and dropped Envy’s hand. “Stop broadcasting,” he said. “You’re making things worse.”

  Envy was instantly offended.

  “Do you think I’m not equal to the rest of you?” she demanded.

  Pride put his arm around her shoulders. He would have to deal with her later, but not now, not when so many mortals were at risk. “You are the epitome, the absolute of your emotion,” he said gently. “But you are too effective. No one can withstand your influence. You’re adding to their sense of resentment.”

  “That’s what I do!”

  “But not now,” he pleaded. “It’s after midnight. Dawn is coming.”

  “Don’t you dare single me out!” she shrieked. “You’re saying I’m not as good as you are!”

  “I’m not,” Pride said. Even if he felt it was the truth, now was not the time to say so. “Just be still for the moment.”

  Angrily, Envy tugged her other hand out of Sloth’s and stood beside Anger in the center. “Just get it over with. We’ll deal with this later.”

  Pride nodded. He reached out to his followers again. He brought his influence to bear on as many of his adherents as he could touch. To his horror, the brimming well of anger was so powerful that it overwhelmed the mortals’ good sense. Instead of backing down, they redoubled their efforts to conquer their opponents. A regal-looking gentleman in evening dress who had been about to back away from a dancer from the Gay Pride krewe suddenly advanced upon him and began to poke the man in the chest, hammering home every syllable of his argument. The dancer did a spin on one foot and delivered a roundhouse kick to the well-dressed man’s jaw. He toppled over backwards and measured his length on the cobblestones. As soon as he could regain his feet, he grabbed the dancer by the shoulders and headbutted him.

  No! Pride thought at them. That’s not what you should be doing. But it was his own fault. He glanced at Envy. She was going to crow, but he had no choice. For the sake of the mortals, he had to sacrifice his own pride. He dropped the hands of the Manifestations to either side and stepped into the center of the circle. Anger stared at him.

  “Are you giving up on us now?” he demanded.

  “No,” Pride said, consumed with shame. “I was making things worse. I must stop. Now they feel justified in their outbursts of anger.”

  “So must I,” Greed said, coming to stand beside him. “My people are all breaking shop windows.”

  “You want the three of us to do it all on our own?” whined Sloth.

  “Why not? You should be proud of your ability,” Pride said, turning all the force of his talent on his companions. The three glanced at one another.

  “Come on,” Lust said, throwing an arm over Sloth’s shoulders. “You, me and Gluttony? It’ll be like old times. Remember all those Roman orgies? It’ll be fun.”

  “Well…” Sloth hesitated. Pride gave every erg of energy he had in him. Sloth shrugged a quarter of an inch. “All right.”

  It was almost fun to watch. To Pride’s chagrin, it worked all too well. A man and a woman who had been slapping one another across the face moved closer and closer into a passionate kiss as they were overtaken by a wave of red heat from Lust. Gluttony caused fragrant waves of steam to travel north along St. Peter and St. Ann Streets from the Café du Monde, the aroma of beignets and chicory coffee all but hooking themselves into the noses of half the people in the square. They forgot all about their arguments and wandered away in search of fried dough smothered in powdered sugar. Sloth overwhelmed hundreds of his followers with endless waves of ennui. They simply stopped fighting and sat down on the grass, too exhausted or lazy to continue. Half of them fell asleep where they landed.

  “Is that all of them?” Pride asked.

  “Yes,” Greed said, surveying around them. From elbow-to-elbow crowds, the big park seemed almost empty. They sensed beyond the square throughout the city. Every single mortal who hadn’t gone home to bed was either eating, drinking or carousing. To his great relief, the ennui that had stifled the souls of the humans during the day had fled. These people felt alive again. No more emptiness.

  “Success,” Pride said, smugly. Envy gave him a look of utter disdain.

  Behind the Manifestations, the chimes of the church clock tolled a single time. One o’clock.

  “We’re here too late,” Sloth yawned. “Are we gonna get in trouble for running over time?”

  “Doubt it,” Anger said, with dark humor. “If the Big Guy wants to make everyone sin without us He’s going to have to come here in person.”

  “It’s not fair that He loves mortals more than us,” Envy complained.

  “Watch it!” Pride said. “That kind of comment IS going to get us in trouble.”

  “What more?” she asked. “I was shut out of every party in town. You treat me like a lesser talent, and kudos go to the self-indulgent sensation hounds in our number. Four of us end up with no followers. It’s been a horrible day. What else could happen?”

  A torrent of water hit her suddenly in the face. The water cannons had finished their work on the side streets and arrived in Jackson Square. All the Manifestations were soaked to the skin before they could vanish into the nearest portal to the real world. Pride’s beautiful suit was dripping, and his tie had
been knocked askew. Greed was laughing.

  “Did I mention the Big Guy has a wry sense of humor?” Pride asked.

  After Midnight

  Closer. Just a little bit closer. Irmani Sim leaned forward in the polished wooden pew, folding her hands in the lap of her slim-fitting, green satin dress, trying to look as if she was praying. If only that fat man in the shiny blue suit didn’t look back at that moment, she’d be in the money—literally. As the minister called out the next hymn, the fat man stood up with the rest of the congregation. He was missing his wallet now, but with any luck, he wouldn’t even notice until he tried to pay for breakfast somewhere. Irmani dropped the worn leather billfold into the green crocodile handbag between her feet. Her partner Gib gave her a silly, lopsided grin, teeth shining in his good-looking, dark-skinned face.

  “You’re going to hell for that. Stealing in the house of God. Before His very face!” a wispy voice hissed.

  Irmani looked around. A stern, wrinkled face like a piece of wadded up newspaper glared at her. The old woman had to be at least ninety, but sharp as broken glass. Irmani frowned. She thought she hadn’t been observed. Never mind. She crossed her forefinger over her thumb and pointed it at her accuser.

  “You didn’t see anything,” she whispered. The old woman’s face crumpled with confusion for a moment. When it cleared, she smiled a little vacantly at Irmani, then went back to her prayer book.

  Irmani and Gib exchanged the kiss of peace with the rest of the congregation and headed back to their seedy little hotel to change out of their Sunday best.

  “How much you get?” Gib asked, handing over the two wallets he had lifted during the service.

  “Just four,” Irmani said, counting twenties with that inward thrill that she always got at the sight of money. “But the pickings will be good this afternoon, I promise. The city is just full of tourists!”

  “Hey, sorry, babe,” a tall, fair-skinned man said, clutching her arm with an unsteady hand. His eyes were bloodshot, the result of drinking all the Hurricanes that had been in the stack of cups he carried in his other hand.