Death of a Blue Movie Star

monologue had wandered into Haiti and she was learning a number of things about voodoo and West African Dahomean religion.
    “Do you know about zombies?”
    “Sure, I’ve seen the movies,” Rune said. “Somebody goes to an island in the Caribbean and gets bit by this walking-dead gross thing, yuck, with worms crawling around, then he comes back and bites all his friends and—”
    “I’m talking about real zombies.”
    “Real zombies.” Her finger released the trigger of the camera.
    “There is a such a thing, you know. In Haitian culture, the walking dead are more than just a myth. It’s been found that
houngans
or
mambos
—the priests and priestesses—would appear to induce death by administering cardiopulmonary depressants. The victims seemed to die. In fact, they were in suspended animation.”
    (“Rune,” Larry’d told her, “the interviewer is always in control. Remember that.”) She said, “Let’s get back to the Sword of Jesus.”
    “Sure, sure, sure. The people that’re responsible for these pornography bombings.”
    Rune said, “What do you know about them?”
    “Nary a thing, miss.”
    “You don’t?” Her eyes strayed to the bookshelves. What was this “definitive” stuff.
    “No. Never heard of them.”
    “But you said you knew most of the cults.”
    “And I do. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t exist. There are thousands of cult religions in this country. The Sword of Jesus could be one that has a hundred members who read from the Bible and talk fire and brimstone—of course, all the while writing off their tithes on their income taxes.”
    He got an ash into the round ceramic ashtray on his desk before it fell to the floor.
    “Say they did exist. You have any thoughts on them?”
    “Well, I guess …” The volume went way down. Eyes out the window again.
    “Professor?”
    “Sorry. It’s surprising.”
    “What is?”
    “The killings. The violence.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “You see, in America, we can’t escape the heritage of religious tolerance. We’re so damn proud of it. Oh, we’ll lynch a man because he’s black, persecute him because he’s a Communist, despise him because he’s poor or because he’s Irish or Italian. But his religion? No. That is not a prejudice that flies in America, the way it would in Europe. And you know why? Nobody really cares about religions here.”
    “But what about Jim Jones? He was American.”
    “People may kill to
protect
their religion. And these Sword of Jesus people, if there is such a thing, unquestionably come from conservative, military backgrounds and a love of firearms and hunting. They’d kill abortionists. But, see, that’s to save lives. Killing purely to further a system of morality … Well, I could see some Islamic sects, some primitive religions doing that. But not in America, not a Christian group. Remember, Christians were the folks that brought you the Crusades, and the reviews were not good at all. We’ve learned our lesson.”
    “Would you have any idea where I could find out if they’re real?”
    “You’re talking to the best source, young lady, and I’m afraid I can’t help very much. Is this going to be network?”
    She said, “Maybe even in the movie theaters.”
    A caterpillar of ash fell onto his shiny pants and he brushed it away to join the other fractured, gray bodies at his feet. “I have tenure, you know, but still, every bit helps. Now, if you still have some tape left would you like to hear about the Sioux Sun Dance ceremony?”

     
    In his most cheerful Down Under lilt, Larry was saying, “What it is, we’re gonna give you a raise.”
    Rune was unplugging the tungsten lights. They’d just finished interviewing people for a documentary on day-care centers. Rune was exhausted. She’d been up until three that morning poring over books about cults—and finding nothing about the Sword of Jesus—and rewatching Professor Miller’s less-than-helpful tape. Now she paused and stifled a yawn. Looked at her boss.
    This
was
Larry, wasn’t it?
    Occasionally, when she had a hangover or was tired or it was early in the morning, she had trouble telling them apart. Bob, she had to remember, was a little smaller, with a trimmer beard and a tendency toward beiges and browns, while Larry wouldn’t be found south of Dutchess County in anything but black.
    “A raise?”
    He said, “We figure it’s time you took on a few more things.”
    Her stomach gave an excited lurch.