Title: The Royal Lie
Author: Paul Drew
Summary
The events depicted in this murder mystery, although by definition as a novel are fictitious, they nonetheless challenge the reader to take a closer look at the institutions, particularly organized religion, that they may have accepted for a lifetime on face value. Drew quotes from Plato’s Republic on the back cover. “For a young person cannot judge what is allegorical and what is literal; anything that he receives into his mind at that age is likely to become indelible and unalterable; and therefore it is most important that the tales which the young first hear should be models of virtuous thoughts.” And “Then if anyone at all is to have the privilege of lying, the rulers of the State should be the persons; and they, in their dealings either with enemies or with their own citizens, may be allowed to lie for the public good. But nobody else should meddle with anything of the kind.”
About the Author
Joseph Drew is majoring in English and political science at Rutgers University, New Brunswick, New Jersey. Upon completion of his five-year program, he will have earned a Bachelor of Arts and a Master of Arts in Teaching. The Royal Lie is his first novel.
First Chapter
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name . . .”
"Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, “this sucks.” He began to fiddle around with the music book on the back of the pew, flipping noisily through the pages. His mother glanced over and shot him “the look.” He stopped immediately and stared unflinchingly at the priest on the altar, whose hands were raised to the white plaster ceiling. It was covered with intricate illustrations of biblical characters and events. I wonder how they painted all of that, he wondered to himself as his gaze moved upward to the colorful scenes, which masterfully depicted, on the ceiling of the church, God breathing life into Adam, Noah’s Ark, and the Crucifixion.
“Lord, we are not worthy to receive You, but . . .”
He picked up the music book again and flipped noisily through the pages once more. He felt his mother jab him in the ribs with her elbow, and he knew that she was glaring at him, yet he chose not to look up, for he knew he would immediately turn to stone if he did. He stared at the marble floor until it was time to go up to receive Holy Communion. He processed up the aisle and slowly approached the priest.
“Body of Christ,” offered the priest in the same monotone voice with which he preached.
“Amen.” Reflex. He had been saying it without even knowing what it truly meant for as long as he could remember. And he had tasted that cardboard wafer in his mouth every Sunday since the second grade. What a surprise, he thought to himself, it tastes like shit this week, too. He laughed to himself at his clever remark. He hated mass.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” his mother demanded as the family walked to the car after mass. “I swear, Thomas, you can be so disrespectful sometimes it just makes me so . . .” He tuned her out. He had heard the same old spiel at least once a week from this woman, who always said it as if she were saying it for the first time. He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, he just hated Church. He was bored, not mischievous. He looked at his father beside him, but his father just pretended not to notice that anything was happening. A dad’s job, Thomas thought to himself, is to pretend to be stupid so he doesn’t have to do anything about anything. He’s dumb, but he’s not so dumb.
“Are you even listening to me, Thomas?” Her voice startled him out of his hypothesis.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. Look, I promise I’ll try to be more attentive. I just never knew Church was such a big deal to you. I’m sorry,” he lied.
“Well, it is a big deal,” she replied. “Religion is very important to me and your father, right, Joe?”
“Yes, dear.”
“See?”
“Yeah, Mom, I see. I promise I’ll be good from now on.” They reached the car. One of the new SUV’s that everyone was going gaga over.
P-O-S, he thought to himself. I wouldn’t be caught dead driving that shitbox. I need a nice pickup truck. Or a motorcycle. Yeah, a motorcycle.
They sat down at the table for breakfast. Mass started at eight o’ clock, so they usually arrived home by nine to eat. They had cereal because she didn’t feel like cooking. They ate in silence for a few minutes until she spoke up suddenly. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”
Uh-oh, Thomas thought to himself.
“I’ve been thinking you should get more involved with the Church.”
“Who, me?” asked Thomas.
“Yes, you. What do you think, Joe?”
“Um. Well . . . I, uh . . . sure. Why not?”
“See? Your father agrees.”
“No he doesn’t. Tell her, Dad.”
“Well, Mary, I just don’t think we should force him into something like this.”
“Nonsense, it’ll be good for him. He can be an altar boy or something.”
“An altar boy? Mom, are you crazy? Those kids are gay!”
“They are not. Don’t say that. Your father was one when he was your age, so I just figured . . .”
“Yeah, maybe it was cool back in 1776 or whenever you guys were kids, but today kids like that get mocked and ridiculed all of the time. They have to sit at their own table at lunch. They have to sit in the back of the bus, alone. They get called names. Obvious ones like ‘fag,’ ‘homo,’ ‘nerd.’ You know, the usuals. Yet, some kids like to use more creative terms like ‘God boy’ and ‘choir queer.’”
“Ooh, the choir!”
“Mom, focus!”
“Sorry.”
“Bottom line. I think this is a bad idea.”
“I’m calling Father Jude in the morning.”
“Mom!”
“I don’t want to hear it. You need this in your life. You need to be more spiritual.”
“Spiritual? Mom, I don’t have time to be spiritual. I have practice every day. I have tons of homework. I . . . I just don’t have time for any of this crap.”
“It’s not crap. It’s important. Look, try it for a while. If we find that it’s not working out, then you can stop.”
“All right, but I’m telling you that I hate this idea.”
“No you don’t. You love it, and so does your father, right, Joe?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Here to help, Son.”
Bullshit, Thomas thought to himself.
“What do you mean you don’t know if God exists?”
“I’m sorry, Brother, I just . . .”
“Now you listen to me, young man. Don’t you ever try to derail my teachings ever again! If I hear another word like that, another phrase like the one I just heard, I swear to God . . . not only will I fail you for the marking period, I will tear your face off and feed it to the waiting hounds of Hell! Do you understand me?”
Silence. He just stared wide-eyed back at Brother Henry as if the man’s face were just set ablaze by Satan himself. Usually religion class was mellow. It was the last period of the day, and everyone, including the teachers, wanted to leave for the day. Brother Henry rarely got riled up, so Thomas concluded that he had just dug himself an exceptionally large hole.
“Well?”
“Um . . . yes, uh, yes, Brother. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” The bell rang, and class ended. Holy shit, he thought to himself as he walked swiftly out of the classroom and into the throng of people in the hallway. He didn’t like the idea of his face being ripped away from the rest of his head and fed to some pack of rabid, satanic dogs. He didn’t like the idea of failing, either.
“Oh, man! Brother Henry just tore you apart, dude! Damn.” Peter put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder.
“Thanks, man,” Thomas replied. He and Peter had been friends ever since he could remember. They had played in Peter’s inflatable pool even before they were in kindergarten, Peter always pouring water over Thomas’s head. Thomas never minded. They were always on the same soccer, basketball, and baseball teams. They always picked on the girls together. They always got picked on by the girls together. “Do you think Brother was serious?” Thomas asked.
“Well, I don’t know about the failing thing, but I’m almost eighty-five percent sure he wouldn’t tear your face off. Well, eighty percent. No, seventy . . .”
“Thanks! Got it. Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
“The party!”
“Oh, yeah, the party. I can’t believe I almost forgot.”
“Are you finally going to ask out Virginia? Hmm? Hmm?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean . . . ah, shit. I don’t know. Why would she ever want to go out with me? Pretty soon I’m not gonna have a face. Imagine the looks we would get.”
“Be serious, you dork. Look, all I’ve heard you talk about for the past month is how Virginia is so good looking. She’s so smart. She’s so . . . whatever. If you don’t ask her, I’ll ask her for you because you’re driving me insane.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that she’s so . . .”
“Driving me insane!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know how you feel.”
“You do?”
“No. But, please do it soon, for my sanity.”
“Fine. But I’m only doing it for you.”
“Right.”
Every year around the beginning of April, since they were in middle school, Veronica Wilson threw a party. It was always a grand event, and all of the kids from school were invited either by Veronica herself, or by second- and third-hand sources, who said there was something happening that Saturday night in Veronica’s neck of the woods. This time was no exception. And this time, Thomas knew that Virginia Sorkin would be there. Virginia was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his young life. She was always friendly to him, but she was friendly to everyone else as well. When she smiled, her green eyes lit up the room. Her brown hair bounced just below her shoulders when she walked. She wasn’t skinny like those anorexic fashion models in the magazine ads; she was slim and athletic, an exceptional field hockey and lacrosse player. The thought of cheerleading never crossed her mind; she wanted to be part of the action, scoring the goals, winning money for college someday so she could be a successful . . . who knew? Whatever she wanted. Everyone agreed she was a pleasure to be around, and Thomas was no exception. He also knew that she was way out of his league. Every day he thought about her during math class. He thought about her during Latin. He thought about her at baseball practice until the previous Tuesday when a ball bounced up and hit him in the groin, interrupting pretty much everything except the laughter that ensued from the rest of the team and the throbbing pain between his legs. That was the last time he thought about Virginia at baseball practice.
Thomas walked home. Flowers were blooming, and he realized that he would have to mow the lawn soon. The air was definitely warmer than the previous week, and the sky seemed bluer and brighter, more alive. It was Friday, which made everything seem that much better. School was winding down, but finals would be approaching soon. He wasn’t worried; he had more important things to worry about. What would he say to Virginia the next night?
Ordering Information
Ordering Information
The Royal Lie
Joseph Drew
Price: $8.95
Postage and Handling: $2.00
NJ Residents: Add 7% sales Tax ($.63)
Phone: 732-489-3195
Fax: 732-449-6167
E-mail: Charleson@optonline.net
ISBN: 0-9754805-0-2 |
© Copyright 2008. AtlasBooks®, BookMasters®, Inc.
All rights reserved.
