”What are they saying?” Margo demanded. “What are they doing?”
Once again, Malcolm hushed her. She stood in the midst of an insane crowd and tried hard to figure out the lunacy she’d just witnessed, but didn’t come up with anything rational as explanation. Some scholar I am. To interpret something, one first had to know something on which to base an interpretation.
Why was it there was never enough time to fulfill one’s dreams properly? To be a proper scout would take years. If she took years, the one burning goal that had made the past three years tolerable would never amount to anything more than daydreams. Margo sighed as the priests re-entered the Temple, carrying their sacred images inside. Then it was all over and the crowd broke up. People chattered excitedly, sounding for all the world like sports fans comparing the performances of favorite basketball stars. Malcolm fussed briefly with the bag containing his personal log, sliding the digitizing camera back into it and shutting off everything. Then he stood blinking like a sleepy English spaniel just coming awake in the morning.
”Well …” Malcolm’s glance rested on her. His face reddened. “Hi. I, uh, think you had a question?” he asked sheepishly.
”Or three, yes.” She stood glaring at him, hands on hips, then had to laugh. “You look so funny when you’re embarrassed, Malcolm. What the hell was that all about? I tried to make sense of it, but it was pretty weird.”
”Today is known as Black Friday, the day of the Sun’s death,” Malcolm explained as he led the way down from the sacred Palatine Hill. “Attis is a Solar god, castrated and sacrificed to fructify the earth, then reborn again after coupling with his mother/consort Cybele. The Taurobolium-the ritual slaughter of the bull-is a purification ritual.”
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