On the morning of the great feast day when sounds of glass and bangles fell on the village like rain and the flowers opened to dew and the day of their fulfillment, the boy woke early and went to his mother who washed him and wrapped him in clean white linen.

The bullock in the stable snorted and raised the ground with impatient hooves. It watched the people of the house come and go with their arms full of flowers and fruit and waited til one came for him.

When the beginning of the day had passed and the sound of wooden wheels labored toward the temple of the three Gold Pieces, the man of the house led the bullock to his cart.

The mother climbed on and lifted the boy up and stood him before her holding him with her knees. The flowers on the cart smelled sweet and one of the girls sang an old temple song.

“Tell me again,” demanded the boy. “Tell me about the great curtain.”

“It is heavy and red and hung with gold fringe and tassel. It looks very soft in the light of candle and oil lamps.” His mother spoke very close to his ear.

“And has no one ever seen him?”

“No one ever raises the curtain or goes behind it. The Great God would be angry if we looked upon him.”

“Is he really there?”

“Oh, yes.”

The boy’s brown shoulders rose and fell with the thought. He breathed in the flowered air and closed his eyes. His body swayed as the cart jogged along and the creaking of the wheels pleased him. He imagined the Great God dressed all in gold and sitting on the throne.

“Has no one ever seen him?” he asked again.

“The old man, who sits by the village well, says he has seen him. He says he was a child the veil was raised on the great feast day and the Great God answered questions and spoke of great wonders.”

“Why do we do this no longer?”

“Ah! The old man is very old. He dreams, who knows. Perhaps it never was so.”

At the foot of the hill a dozen carts waited. Others came to join them and the villagers wound up the hill in a single file carrying wreaths and baskets of flowers and singing the song of the fast day, up to the stone and clay temple with its mosaic floor and lattice tile front.

The boy felt a growing excitement as he marched with huge steps to keep in pace with his father. He held the lily he carried high and looked up at the temple with the sun pouring down on it.

When they reached the stone paved square before the temple the boy looked back to his mother.

“Does no one speak to him anymore?”

“No! Shh-not a word when we are inside.”

The boy sealed his lips firmly, and concentrated on the effort-but when he stepped into the dark cool place and saw the great scarlet curtain and the flowers bordering it all so soft in the flickering lamp light a great sigh escaped him. A Great Man strolled back and forth before the curtain singing “And the harvest, and all the women that there may be many sons, and all the flowers that they…”

“Perhaps that is the God thought the boy, but then he noticed that the man’s teeth were brown and some were missing. It was the old Priest who taught school he decided.

One by one the villagers bent forwards and knelt before the great curtain then handed their flowers to girls who arranged them attractively with the others. Two girls worked alternately so that no time was lost. The boy knelt and then looked up at the curtain. “Just one little peek—” he thought. The girl took his flowers and he bushed his jaw forward. He had intended to make a little bow as he handed it to her and she had just taken it when he wasn’t looking. He retreated to the back to the room and waited for his family.

He saw the old man crowed at the edge of the curtain. Nearly hidden by the flowers. His lips were moving as if he were talking to someone.

As the boy left the temple with his family he looked back and saw that the old man was still there.

When they reached the foot of the hill there was a great sound of excited talking and invitations were called back and forth for there was a great feast planned in every house. The boy closed his eyes again and listened to his sisters chatting and laughing. Then he closed his eyes and thought about the wonderful curtain and the Great God behind it. But his mother offered him a sugar cake and he remembered the feast of the afternoon.

The boy woke early on the morning following the great feast day. He had dreamed of the lights and the singing and the dancing all in front of the great curtain and he had stood before it and then knelt lower and tried to see under it, but one of the flower girls had pulled him up by the shoulder and shaken him.

When he woke the sun was filtering into the house, but the others were still sleeping. He crept among them and out into the court yard. Wilted flowers and scraps of food were scattered among the bowls on the mat. Only the Bullock was awake.

He stepped among the litter and walked toward the village. A small dog followed him to the center of the square. It was empty except for the old man who sat sleeping against the shady side of the well. The boy sat down before him and watched him. He was withered. His hands were very long and curled and his eyes were deep in his face. White fuzz covered his chin and a grey holy cloth was wound around his head. He slept with his mouth open.

The boy meant to be patient but quite without really meaning to he pulled at the old man’s coat.

“Oh! Oh!” The old man looked down at him with his mouth open waiting for his next move.

“Old man,” the boy moved a little closer. “Yesterday was the great feast day.”

“The old man nodded and turned to go back to sleep, but the boy moved forward again. “Old man. My mother told me about the Great God who sits behind the great curtain of red.” The old man nodded again. “Old man,” the boy breathed very deeply, “Have you seen him?”

A strange light reflected from the old man’s little hidden eyes. He began to sway slightly back and forth. “Yes! Yes! I have seen and talked to him. When I too was a boy the curtain was raised each feast day and we asked questions and “God spoke to us of the wonder of all things. We took him the lambs and the great melons—ah! Then came a time when we no longer raised the curtain but spoke to him through it and listened for his answer.”

“Why do we no longer do it?”

“Ah!” The old man stared at him and shook his head.

“Do you ever look now?” the boy asked.

“I saw him,” the old man interlocked his hurled hands and looked up.

“Oh could I see him too? Why can we not speak to him in the temple?”

The old man was chanting and the boy waited for a long time but the old man didn’t answer. So the boy rose and walked back to his father’s house, looking up at the temple on the hill over his shoulder several times.

His mother was cooking when he came in. “I see you’ve been out early.”

“Yes. I talked to the old man at the wall. He said that he did see the Great God.” The boy spoke in a whisper. “Mother I would like to see him. I want to see what he looks like.”

“Well ask the old man. Eat your bread.”

“Mother, is the Great God really there.”

She handed him his breakfast. “Eat and no more questions. We must work today. The boy took his bread and walked out into the yard. His sisters were cleaning the mats from yesterday.

He started again for the village. The sun was hot now and he went more slowly. A group of men stood around the old well and a few women. Some of them were wailing. “What has happened?” asked the boy and he slipped in among them. The old man lay on the ground with his eyes wide open and his mouth open. A fly crawled on his forehead.

“Old man,” said the boy. “Old man!”

“The old man is dead,” said a villager. The boy sighed. Again he turned and then walked toward the old school leader. He sang the chant before the curtain. He must know. The boy ran up to the door and met the school teacher coming out.

“The old man is dead!”

“Um.”

“School teacher, why do we no longer lift the curtain to look at the Great God?”

The man stopped and looked down at the boy. “It is his will!”

“Did he say so?”

“Run along boy. The old man has died,” and he passed over to see for himself.

The boy walked out of the village and looked up at the temple. It glittered in the sun. He hurried to the hill and began the climb. It was longer and hotter than yesterday and he reached the top wet and tired. The lattice doors were closed and fastened. And inside the great brass plated doors were closed. He walked around to the side and saw that there were shuttered windows. He climbed up the lattice tiles and tried one. It was locked. The next gave a little and he saw that it was fastened from the inside with a cord. He reached in and undid it, climbed in and closed it after him. It was dark inside. Only small slits of light crept in around the shutters. The air was damp and sweet with the huge bank of flowers that have covered the great curtain.

In a moment the boy’s eye was accustomed to the light and he could see the red folds and the fringe. He moved nearer. He saw his own lily and unburied it. The sound of his heart echoed and he walked very quietly. He moved to the place where the old man had been. He bowed down then sat up and looked at the rich redness. He reached out and touched the curtain; it was soft and smooth. He drew his hand quickly away. Then with a motion as swift he lifted the hem and thrust his lily under. He waited hearing only the pounding of his heart. Then he bowed down again and put his mouth close. “The old man has died,” he said. It was silent. Then came the sound of wind and the curtain moved only a little where the boy knelt. He sprang back and ran to the unlatched window.

For a moment he was dazzled by the sun. Then he looked back into the temple. All was still as before. Alone with the wilting flowers. He climbed down and walked slowly down the hill