Set Voland--a homeless young man who attacked a child in the midst of hallucinations--has been caught by the police and sent to a psychiatric hospital. There, he's stricken by a meeting with a Shining White Being who will completely overturn his lif...
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25. THE NEW CHURCH OF PHILADELPHIA
Oh my Lord take this soul,
Lay me at the bottom of the river,
The Devil has come to carry me home,
Lay me at the bottom, the bottom of the river
(Blues Saraceno, The River)
At 11:45 on Wednesday the 17th of May, the exquisitely educated and most humble example of a human being, formerly called Sakuya Sumeragi, was ready to leave.
He fixed the gold cufflinks and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt to let them show—as per good etiquette—a couple of inches out of the hems of his jacket. His eyes trailed down the full-length mirror that reflected his well-shaped figure. He had rarely worn a suit in the last few years, but it fit him just right.
His build was athletic to the point of being manly and yet lean enough to complement the elegance of his finely crafted, total-black outfit. His hidden muscles had been molded by years of Aikido and Krav Maga practice. The Japanese martial art—the way of harmonious spirit—had granted him gentle, smooth movements and a still mind, while the close combat, Israeli fighting system had earned him beyond perfect self-defense skills.
The man tightened the high topknot that kept his long, raven-black locks from falling to the front, enhancing his formal look. His features were the quintessential marriage of East and West—sharp lines artfully smoothed at the edges. A small beauty mark under his left eye embellished the flawless, pale skin and full lips a geisha would die for. His silky hair held the shining darkness of a clear, summer night. Yet, his gleaming cat eyes were the most striking detail, their color being the otherworldy mélange of aquamarines, jades, and sapphires.
He could've easily been a model or a Hollywood actor.
"The car is ready, Father." The rancorous nuance in Mark's familiar voice bothered Sakuya's blessed ears.
In the mirror, the man searched the face of his personal attendant—a sweet-looking, dark-blond boy of college age, eyeing his superior with the self-assured glower of an old grump. Sakuya's reflection gave Marcus a sly smile, while the man adjusted the white collar under the neck of his black shirt.
"What a miraculous accident," he quipped, turning around. "So am I."
Holding his stare, the boy didn't bat an eyelash. After nine years of service, he didn't even bother to reply anymore. Well, he clearly never got Sakuya's humor to begin with.
Studying Marcus' poised expression, the man drew a couple of steps closer. "You seem rather relaxed," he teased, daunting the stillness in the boy's crystal-clear eyes.
