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Show Anting Alone Page 356 For the old man was not without his insecurities, fears and, yes, weaknesses. Axelrad remembered that first meeting with Mr. Cicerone. Even while he was being mesmerized, even while he was gladly taking into his most intimate, heretofore unassailable subconscious mind the most outlandish post-hypnotic suggestions, even while allowing his own sense of self-preservation to be co-opted, Axelrad had somehow been able to detect a chill of real fear and dread in Mr. Cicerone's voice, as he spoke of "that cloven-hoofed Councillor of the Parable of the Double-Pronged Earthly and Unearthly Good." Axelrad had felt sympathetic fear, too, like a child finding out for the first time that one of his parents has an enemy or a tormentor whom he/she simply cannot handle. The old man had almost wept, or whined, among other things, "That evil councillor refuses to acknowledge the validity of my reasons for maintaining that hell has to be raised in America one day soon!" And though those words had been explicitly spoken, or whined right down into his face, Axelrad hadn't even remembered them until this morning, nor considered their import until this very moment, as he cowered here on his belly under the ritual pews of a shrine dedicated to some god other than his own, and tried not to hear the blood-wails of his former associates. If a real man and not an allegorical figure, who might this Councillor of the Parable be? From what incredible height or depth could such a man spring, who could make even the mighty Cicerone quake with apprehension? The old man had dropped some hint, cryptic and unelaborated, that the Councillor was the representative of "the new liberal-humanist administration. Were that true, then Axelrad could heave a sigh of relief, or disappointment, |
