Chosen (33 page)

And, to my relief and amazement, Adam recovered once more. This was the power of his belief. There
was
power in it, you see.
Real
power can come out of delusion. He never entirely regained his former health – he was weaker and the times he revealed himself to the Brethren became fewer. Where once there'd been a meeting every week now there was scarcely one a month, but it was enough. Perhaps
the scarcity increased the intensity of joy among the throng when he did speak, and he did so with a renewed fervour since he'd emerged from the illness to a series of new visions and visitations.

Crows replaced herons, and our place flocked with the horrid creatures, so he would sit outside and wait and almost always one would come to him. And he dreamed one night of a man without a face. The dream haunted him, it had the atmosphere of something vital, he said, and he prayed and fasted and meditated until it came to him. To be faceless is to symbolize the destructive futility of personality, of individuality, which is the enemy of the very oneness which must be our goal. That is when the idea of the masks occurred to him.

For a while every recruit wore a mask and relinquished possession of a name – but this proved impractical and there were a few months of chaos until Jesus spake again. The masks were only for those who had proved their worthiness, who had shed their worldly personalities through the clarification process. And then they would only be worn for ceremonial and teaching purposes and to maintain a distance between the truly absorbed Soul-Life members and those still to be tested in their resolve and their belief.

Once I said to Adam, ‘What is the end of all of this?' We were sitting in our own white room. It was after celebration and sacrifice. I'd bathed the blood from his hands and washed his feet, as he loved me to do. And I didn't mind that. I loved him as a mother loves a child by then, that is how I reconciled my lack of belief in what he said, with the storm of tenderness I felt in his proximity. I cut his toenails and rubbed hand cream into the rough skin on his heels. I was used to waiting for him to formulate his reply but he was only looking at me.

‘What are you asking?' he said.

‘There are millions, maybe billions, of dollars in the bank accounts. You have hundreds of devotees.'

He nodded.

‘But what . . .' I paused. I didn't want to anger him, nor did I want to say anything to rock his own belief, since that was all that held him together – that and my love. ‘What's the point of it?' I dared myself to ask.

‘That is the question of a child,' he said coldly, ‘and do not pretend to me, Martha, that you are so naïve.'

I swallowed. ‘What's at the heart of it?' I persisted. ‘For
what
are the Chosen chosen?'

‘Eternal life,' he said.

‘I know, but –'

He began tiredly to preach at me and it was all words I'd heard before. The parrot was cackling as he spoke and it was saying, ‘
Nothing
, there's nothing at the heart of it,' and that voice was louder to me then than Adam's voice. And when it shut up I heard silence ringing like a tongueless bell.

‘Yes,' I said, to force words into that silence. ‘Oh yes, you're right, Adam, of course you are. Forgive me. It must be Satan trying to work into a chink.'

‘I'm glad you spoke your doubts,' he said. ‘Of course Satan will try his luck every now and then even with one so devoted as you, my love. You must be his greatest challenge.' And he stroked my hair as I lay my head against his knee and my heart wanted to scream out with the tragedy of his belief in me, and how easily he could be deceived.

†

Five years after Seth's birth, Stella wrote to tell me that Aunt Regina had died. She'd had a stroke and had lived for six months with Kathy nursing her and then, just as she'd seemed to be recovering, she'd had another massive stroke. When I heard this news, the weakness came into my mind again, and it was some months before I was better. I prayed for belief as strong as Adam's to help me deal with Aunt Regina's death, and to deal with the fact that now we never could be reconciled. There was a chasm in my poor fake soul that could never be mended.

†

It was November last year, Seth's sixteenth year, when I phoned Stella. Adam was there with me. He was very ill. Too ill, I thought, to wait until the following October and Seth's birthday. The disease had come creeping back. He said nothing of it until I happened to see him undressed one night, saw how thin his limbs had become and how lumpy and distorted his abdomen.

‘Please let us see a doctor,' I said, though I knew this would anger him.

‘Why can't you understand that this is the will of God?' he said and, before I could reply: ‘
Hannah
understands.'

I stiffened. ‘What?'

‘I must live till my son is here,' he said, ‘until my son has received the wisdom, and then I will be pleased to join the Universal Soul.'

‘Please don't talk like that,' I said.

He sighed and shook his head, put on his night robe and got stiffly into bed. I lay down with him, feeling his dear body in my arms. His breath was foul, as it had been for a long time, but I didn't care: it was his breath and it was precious. His heart was still beating strongly. I put my ear against his chest to listen. I couldn't believe that such a strong heart would ever stop.

‘We'll pray again,' I said. ‘You have the will to live and we have the will to keep you alive.'

He was silent for a moment and then he said something he'd never said before, not in all the time I'd known him: ‘I'm tired. I'm tired. I've had enough.'

‘If you die, I might as well die too,' I said, though as I spoke the words something pugilistic sprang up inside me, fists clenched. No, I was not ready.

‘You must look after Seth. You've been my rock,' he said. ‘It's not your time and you must carry on.'

We lay and stroked each other, taking such comfort as we could. His hand stroked my skin from shoulder blade to buttock over and over and I sighed with the pleasure of it.

‘Adam,' I said into the darkness, ‘if I am to carry on, I need guidance. I understand the process of clarification and the holy work and the investing of money, the fishing, all of that, but I don't feel I have an overview . . . do you see what I mean? I don't know' – I hardly dared to say it again – ‘I don't know what's at the centre of it all. I don't know the point, the end point. Without you, it will be a light going out . . .'

‘Shhh.' He put a finger to my lips. ‘My son will show you the way. He is the next step. Have faith, Martha. All will be revealed.'

Passing the buck
, sniped the Stella-parrot.

We lay quietly then, and I listened until his breath had deepened into sleep and he began to snore gently, the sound of a boy sawing balsa wood, soft and soporific to my ears. I turned away from him and lay huddled round my lonely, secret lack of faith.

When he went, I would go too: that became clear to me then. I would leave Soul-Life. I took to spending time in the admin block – Obadiah's territory and where, unfortunately, Hannah took to hanging around too. She didn't like it when I came in; she made that obvious. But when she wasn't there, I got Obadiah to teach me about computers, to use a laptop, to understand something of the way the finance worked – though it was too vast and confusing an operation for me to understand more than the tiniest bit.

Adam and I went together to the admin block when we deemed it time to phone Stella. He sat in a chair, listening, his good hand squeezing and kneading the maimed one as it always did when he was nervous.

‘It's almost time, Stella,' I said.

‘He's not sixteen.'

‘It's his sixteenth year.'

She was quiet for a long time. I was almost certain she'd laugh her head off at us for believing she'd stick to her agreement. Or else she'd make us wait until next October, until the actual birthday. I could hear the brittle catch in her breath and even the ticking of the clock over the dining-room fire. ‘All right,' she said. ‘Come and fetch him.'

I was surprised enough to hold the phone away for a moment and stare at the scattered holes of the mouthpiece. ‘Are you sure?' I said, but she'd put the phone down.

Adam had never doubted it, he told me, although I'd seen and smelled the anxiety in him these last few weeks.

‘What if it's a trick?' I said. ‘Like last time? What if she's taunting us?'

He shook his head at me, a glaze of sadness in his eyes.

†

Adam was hardly well enough to travel. I said he didn't need to come with me, but he was determined. We bought first-class tickets in order for him to be more comfortable: two outward, three back. Stella had given us the information we needed to organize a visa for Seth. I still could not believe her co-operation.

This time we said nothing about our mission to the community – except to Obadiah, Hannah and Isaac. We booked into the same hotel as before, but it had changed hands and the swimming-carp room that had once been so cool and gloomy green had been jazzed up with red wallpaper and pictures of hot air balloons. The bath had a Jacuzzi feature, which proved wonderfully soothing for Adam's aching body.

Once we were settled, I rang Stella again. ‘You can come and get Seth tomorrow,' she said.

I still did not trust her. ‘What if he doesn't want to come?' I asked.

‘He'll come.' She gave a parched little laugh. ‘He hates school, gets himself bullied. I said, “How'd you like to go and stay with some relatives in America for a bit, and if you like it, you can finish school there?” He jumped at the idea. I phoned his school and said he was transferring.'

‘No trouble?' I said.

‘The head tried to interfere of course, but there's nothing they can do.'

‘So you're happy about this?' I asked, pulling a disbelieving face at Adam who was lying awkwardly back against a pile of scarlet fun-fur cushions, beside which his skin was ghastly lemon.

‘Tomorrow, five o'clock,' she said.

‘What about Seth? You mean he'll just drop everything and come?'

‘“Beam me up, Scotty,” were his exact words.'

‘But his friends, school . . .'

‘He's miserable at school and I'm not making it any better.'

‘Oh,
Stell
,' I said, in a rush of fondness.

‘Five o'clock,' she repeated.

‘Is there any chance we could see Dodie?' I dared to ask.

She laughed and rang off. I put the receiver down and watched the sweat on it evaporate.

‘Surely she won't let it be this easy?' I said, but Adam only did his holy smile and closed his eyes.

On Friday we went to the house. It was a dark afternoon, everything gloomy and dripping. I knocked and we waited, Adam leaning against the wall. Stella came to the door in her old red velvet dress. Her hair was clean and brushed. If it wasn't for the age in her face she could've been a hippy chick again.

‘Mel,' she said. ‘Adam, do come in. What years it's been!' I guessed she was projecting her voice for Seth's benefit.

I clasped her hand, leaned to kiss her cheek and felt her stiffen as my lips touched her skin. ‘Come on in,' she said again. She didn't acknowledge Adam. She led us into the dining room. On the table was a near-completed jigsaw puzzle, a view of Venice.

There was a schoolbag on the floor and I looked around for Seth. ‘Where is he?' I asked.

‘Upstairs, packing,' she said. ‘Cup of tea?'

‘Please.' Adam looked done in. ‘Sit down,' I said. ‘Mind if we put the fire on, Stell?'

She gave a shrug and went to make the tea. The
one-handed clock still ticked away, the other hand like a dead insect at the bottom. Adam sat on an upright chair, elbows on the table, head supported in cupped hands. The space where his thumb should be was deep and withered, powdery and bluish. He looked old and threadbare, the scalp showing through his thinning hair. When Stella came back into the room I saw her glance at him and flicker with satisfaction. My heart was hectoring away inside me.

There was a rumble of feet on the stairs and Seth was suddenly in the room. I couldn't help but gasp – and Stella smirked to see it – because he was so much like Adam – so like Bogart had been: tall, dark-haired but with your startling blue-glass eyes.

‘Mum, have you seen my phone?' he said, and then: ‘Hi.' He flicked back his hair and darted curious looks at Adam and me.

‘This is your uncle and aunt,' Stella said, ‘who are kindly taking you back to the States with them.'

Seth gave us both a shy smile and extended his hand.

‘But I need to tell Dodie first,' he said. ‘I'm meant to be going round.'

‘I'll tell her,' Stella said.

‘You can ring her later,' I said.

‘But I've lost my phone.'

‘I'll tell her,' Stella said again.

‘Tell her I'll email, soon as I get there. I'll have another look for it.' He went thundering back upstairs to continue his search.

‘He's lost his phone?' I said.

Stella shrugged and wouldn't meet my eyes. ‘There's his bag.' She pointed to a scruffy rucksack. ‘Passport and stuff in the pocket. Adam can take Seth straight away, but I want' – and now she did look at me – ‘I want
you
to stay with me for a bit.'

‘Of
course
,' I said.

I worried for Adam since he wasn't strong, and called a taxi to save him driving. Seth was plugged into a music player, head nodding to some inaudible sounds.

When Adam and Seth had gone, Stella rolled herself a joint and we went into the sitting room. She kicked off her clogs and curled up with her legs beneath her, puffing and narrowing her eyes against the smoke. The grey-blond hair that straggled either side of her face was faintly yellowed. There was a long pause while we waited to see who would speak first. Her lips made papery sounds as she smoked, and with every inhalation I expected her to say something, but in the end it was me who spoke first.