"What was it like to live as Patron? I'd like to review this very briefly for you. Through the trances-that I couldn't willfully produce or distance myself from-I had visions that became a part of me. That's how I spent the better part of my life. Still, though, if people ask me if I saw God's face or heard his voice, or ask me what the face and voice of God are like, I can't say.

"I was asked this once by a lady who helped pave the way for our move here. The former diplomat who spent his final years in the Hollow after retire- ment tried his hand at writing a science fiction story. The plot apparently involved a being from another universe that covered the planet like a weather system and sent out messages. When I was in the midst of a trance it was like this-as if I were a mushroom in the middle of a wind stream.

"Friends, after I moved into my residence here in the Hollow I've been scattering sunflower seeds under the eaves of the second floor. The nuthatches have taken over, chasing away all other little birds. They eat a few of the seeds right there and take some away to hide for later. While they're gathering their sunflower seeds they're quite bold, but just as they're about to fly away they do a complete about-face, screeching as if they've been overcome by fear.

"When I awoke from my trances, the kind of mutterings I spewed forth were just like the screeching of those birds. Guide was the one who made them intelligible. That's how I became a mediator for God's word. Guide devoted his life to it. Then came the Somersault. Yes, Guide and I were driven into a corner, put in a real fix by the radical faction. But did I have to go so far as to make a fool of the God I was intimate with? It's become clear to me as I've mulled over Yonah's questions that this was absolutely necessary. There was no other choice.

"By making a fool of God, Guide and I made a confession of faith. It's clear to me now that fear of our followers committing mass suicide was just an excuse. If that's all it was, there would have been other ways out.

"Using that image of God as expressing himself through the weather, Guide and I, like tiny mushrooms shaking in the wind, had to suffer. But by making a fool of God, the existence of this wind-stream God took on an even greater reality.

"Before Guide was murdered, when he and I were living in seclusion, I had a pitiful little dream about the future. Time would pass, I dreamed, and the world would forget about us, and just at that point my trances would re- turn. I would go over to the other side with a sense of nostalgia, I'd come back in a weakened state, and while I recovered Guide would explain what all my senseless mutterings meant. And weren't we, at this moment, even more deeply, even more really, just small mushrooms in the rush of wind that is the Lord?

"Before this could occur, though, Guide was killed. Truthfully, I only made up my mind to rebuild the church after this happened. With Guide gone, I announced the rebuilding of the church to all of you-for all the world like one of those little birds giving out a scared, flustered screech.

"But having done the Somersault, and now without Guide by my side, would I really be able to lead the church? It was Yonah who made me push aside my hesitancy. This was the calling I got from him, to be the one who made a fool of God, the one who, still protesting against him, could continue to be a mediator. After Guide was murdered, I was searching for a new Guide.

Professor Kizu, Morio, and our young Yonah himself may all have been new Guides. That being the case, the triptych in the chapel is the most suitable painting for our church.

"Well, I don't have much more time. I've told you my story up to this point, but the story from this point on will be told by all of you. Launching the new church means its can't just be a continuation of the same old story.

We need a story that's entirely new. The Quiet Women are hoping I'll do a backward Somersault. Yonah was anticipating a Somersault that went even farther forward, done by another Lord who would make a fool of God. But even if that weren't as boring as going backward, I wouldn't do it. Even if I were trying to pretend to be another Lord, the Sacred Wound in the painting has now vanished from my body. I imagine that Yonah no longer has the illusion of setting me up as another Lord.

"So now I want to deliver my message as a person who can only stand on his own, who isn't the puppet of any sect or individual. All I can do is put the finishing touches on the launching of our new church, the Church of the New Man.

"At the end of the sermon it may confuse and anger some of you if I suddenly add a scatological comment, but even those of you without good hearing or sense of smell will detect-as sort of a basso continuo to my speech-the sound and smell of a group of women unable to hold back their farts and diarrhea, lending an earthy sort of foundation to my philosophy. I don't want these poor but wonderful women to have to hold back any longer, so their very human sounds will blend with Morio's music that points toward a pure ascension to heaven.

"Fireflies, you may begin your ceremony of returning the Spirits to the forest. I will pray now that the Old Man is sloughed off. With the end time upon us, I call on all of you to repent and to embark on becoming New Men. Finally, I leave you with the words of a foreign author, his earnest prayer for New Men: Three cheers for Karamazov!"

Right as Patron's sermon drew to a close-the moment when, clearly pressed for time he added this sudden prankish comment that threw his listen- ers off-one after another, clumsy-looking women, obviously in too much of a hurry to remove the barricades at the front entrance of the chapel, leaped out of the low open windows on the lake side of the chapel. As soon as they hit the ground some of them, either having sprained their ankles or just drained of energy, squatted there like hens. Of those who didn't, others sprinted straight for the temporary toilets set up on the eastern slope. Most of them, though, raced off to the dark thickets and shrubs. From the stands, where a stir went through the perplexed spectators, a call rang out, chorus- ing Patron's final words.

"Three cheers for Karamazov! Three cheers for Karamazov! Three cheers for Karamazov!"

Morio's piano piece "Ascending, Part One" spilled out from the speak- ers on either side of the stands and on the island.

The bare lightbulbs hanging down from the grandstands illuminated Ikuo's thick features as he stood up beside Dancer. The rest of his massive head, like a darkly shaded bull's, swayed violently, catching Ogi's attention.

Dancer was pushing something onto the back of Ikuo's left hand, which hung down straight. A gust of wind shook a hanging light that briefly lit up what it was: a box of matches. Ogi could tell that the matchbox, soon sunk again in darkness, was being forced on Ikuo. Holding one end of the match- box, Dancer was twisting the other end onto the back of Ikuo's hand. At the same time she stretched up on tiptoes toward that massive black head, whis- pering something… As the bare lightbulb lit them up again, the back of Ikuo's left hand still didn't budge, but finally he reached out with his right hand and snatched the matchbox away. He then set off for a boat lying in the shadow of the Japanese- style boats floating beside the stairs filled with dark water. The boat rolled as Ikuo got on board, and one of the Fireflies quickly shoved off and set the oars.

Dancer slowly moved backward to where Ogi stood. With a fierce look, she watched the boat set off. The darkened island was lit up by a floodlight from the stands. The floodlight lit up the Spirit dolls piled up on the wooden framework surrounding the giant cypress, particularly the conspicuously larger papier-mâché figure of Guide.