“You aren’t thinking clearly,” he says. “We need to talk about this.”
I’m tired of men telling me what I need to do. In the distance, a door slams and someone calls my name.
“Meet me tomorrow night. At the Mill,” Caleb says, ducking around the back side of the pinyon tree and into the shadows.
I don’t have a chance to answer, scarcely even a moment to breathe, before Aaron is at my side.
“What are you doing out here? Are you alone?” he asks, scanning the Pavilion like he’s trying to memorize it.
“I needed some air,” I say, avoiding the second question. “Did they miss me inside?”
“It isn’t me they want to talk to.”
“I should say goodbye,” I say, though I can’t bear the scrutiny I’ll receive from Rachel.
“I took care of it. I told them you weren’t feeling well.”
I should be grateful. Instead, I’m suspicious. “Why would you do that?”
He turns to the tree, and my insides turn liquid with fear. “I assumed you had your reasons for leaving. I didn’t think you wanted to explain them to anyone.”
“How thoughtful.”
“No problem. This is what we do now, right? Lie to cover each other’s asses?” He walks away and leaves me staring after him, open-mouthed.
After a moment of stunned silence, I hurry to catch up.
“I’m sorry I put you in that position,” I say, as we cross over the main road, “but I never asked you to lie for me.”
“Whatever. Where the hell did this all go so wrong?”
He sounds like he’s talking to himself more than me, but I agree with his sentiment. At least the parts I understand. “It’s like a puzzle that’s been jumbled. Like someone tried to jam some pieces in where they don’t belong.”
“It’s my own damn fault. If I hadn’t been late, I’d be married to Rachel and you’d be happily married to Caleb.”
“What?” This is the last thing I expect him to say. “Rachel? You said that Jacob wanted Rachel. That they were perfect together.”
He swivels so suddenly I have to jump back. Then he grabs my arm and pulls me through the line of the palm trees that rim the courtyard, so that we are hidden from view of the road. Alone. “No, you said that,” he whispers. His eyes dart away from me. “The truth is, I thought about choosing Rachel.”
I’m stunned. And suspicious. Does he like Rachel? I think back to dinner. Did he show any interest in her? Any sort of affection? No. And what about his boyfriend? There’s something else going on here. What did Caleb say? Aaron was supposed to pick Susanna. So who’s telling the truth? And how is it they all seem to know these secrets about each other and the Matrimony, secrets that allow them to discount what I’ve always been taught is sacred? I need to know more.
“So what about Marcus and Susanna? Were they supposed to be married?”
I expect a shrug, or an “I don’t know.” Instead, Aaron says, “No. I was supposed to pick Susanna. Marcus was supposed to choose Rachel.”
He may as well have struck me. “You just said you were going to pick Rachel.”
The cobblestone is cracked, buckled by the heat, and he toes at the gravel collected inside before stooping to pick up a rock. “You really want to know how it works, Miriam?” he asks, tossing the stone from hand to hand. “Because it sure as hell isn’t some divine selection. We’re supposed to pray. Real hard. And then we go to sleep and wait for God to send us a vision of our wives. And if we’ve prayed hard enough and long enough, we dream of her. Which all sounds great. A message from God? Who wouldn’t want that? Except who we marry isn’t decided by God. It’s assigned by Daniel. It doesn’t matter who we dream of; Daniel interprets the dreams however he wants.”
I don’t believe him. I can’t. “You’re lying,” I say. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. “Only God can choose. He’s the one who calls for the wedding in the first place. Why would Daniel care who chooses whom?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? I told Daniel I dreamt of Rachel. Many, many times. So why would he say that God wanted me with Susanna? And that Marcus was meant to marry Rachel?”
“Maybe He—God”—I emphasize the word—“thought Susanna’s beauty would . . . change your mind. About . . . you know.”
“Maybe.” He turns from me, toward the Lake of Fire, and chucks the rock. It bounces smoothly across the surface with a soft thup thup thup before clanging against the base of the fountain.
I have so many questions. Some I’m afraid to ask. But I have to know. Because whomever Aaron dreamt of, it clearly wasn’t me.
“So why me? If you dreamt of Rachel. And Daniel . . . told you to pick Susanna.”
“Marcus and I came up with a different plan. We were going to switch. Quietly. Why would it matter to anyone if we just both picked the girls we dreamt about? We thought no one else would get hurt. Clearly, that didn’t work.”
He and Marcus. A plan. Is this what Caleb meant by Blasphemy? I was thinking of a far worse sin.
“Jacob must have caught wind of what we were doing. Somehow. And I was late. He went before I got the chance.” Aaron runs a hand across his hair, which shines blue in the moonlight. “I was backed into a corner, and you were nice to me. When I finally made it to the cave, it was your name that came out.” He puffs his cheeks and blows out. “Ironic, right? That I actually listened to my heart in there, instead of to Daniel? And look where it’s gotten us.”
His heart? I shake my head. I don’t want to hear about how I was in his heart. There are too many other problems with his words. “Hold on. You said it was Daniel who picked the wives. But that can’t be true. Because then Daniel would know you switched.”
“Daniel does know we switched. Why do you think he’s so pissed off?”
I shake off the memory of Daniel, the day of my Shaming. Of his rage. “No. He could have just stopped the Matrimony.”
“Not without admitting he was the one who arranged it in the first place. And not without telling everyone that our dreams—and God—have nothing to do with it. Otherwise, Marcus and I should have been free to do what we’d planned and choose the wife God named for us. Right?”
I can’t quite wrap my head around his logic. Everyone keeps telling me my marriage to Aaron is part of God’s plan. Deep down, I’ve never believed them. So what he’s saying makes a twisted kind of sense. But then where does God’s influence end and Daniel’s begin? Did Aaron’s parents bring him here to be married off to a woman because God told them to? What about the snakebite? Was that God? And who told Aaron’s heart to offer my name instead of Susanna’s? And why Susanna in the first place? If Aaron is to be believed, that wasn’t God either.
It was Daniel.
Daniel, who built his own house high on the hill so he could watch over us and protect us. Who gathered us here, near the tunnels, so we could be safe. Because God told him to.
Unless that’s not true either.
“All that stuff you said tonight . . . about Zzyzx? Was it true?”
“Yeah, it’s true.”
“And the tunnels? The handwriting on the walls? You called it something.” I squint into the light of the flame atop the fountain, trying to remember. “Pet—”
“Petroglyphs.”
“What is that?”
“Rock carvings. Left by indigenous peoples.” He shrugs. “I don’t know much about the history of the area, but in general, there were a lot of nomadic tribes, and they used the carvings to communicate with each other. You know, where to find food. Water. That kind of thing.”
I only know part of the words he’s saying, and none of it makes sense. “But that’s the handwriting of God.”
He starts to smile, then sobers when he sees my expression. “Look, I believe the cave might have had some spiritual meaning for those people.
Just like it does for you. But those carvings were made by human hands.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“We studied them. Back in high school. They’re well documented throughout the world.”
Throughout the world. So, not special at all. Which means maybe New Jerusalem isn’t special either. In fact, if I can believe Aaron, it used to be a prison. I look back toward the city, to the Council House looming over us like a beacon. Or maybe like a guard.
“But why would God send Daniel dreams of a prison?”
“Don’t you get it yet? God didn’t have anything to do with any of this. Daniel’s father was the guy who ran the old resort scam. He owned all this land, long before you guys came here.”
“His father?” I’ve never pictured Daniel with a family, other than us. Though of course he must have a mother and a father. For some reason, the idea makes me uncomfortable. “How do you know all this?”
A fleeting expression of pain ripples across his face. “I did my research. Before we . . . joined. I—I mean, my family—had a bad experience with a community like this once before.”
“What do you mean, ‘a community like this’?”
“Look, Daniel wants you all to believe it’s you against the world, that you’re the chosen people. But it’s not that simple, okay? There are a lot of religions, a lot of belief systems. Some are more . . . mainstream than others. Some just prey on the weak. And when I was a kid, that’s the kind we ended up in.”
My head feels stuffed, like too much information has been packed in much too tightly. “Pray on you? How?” I picture a pile of adults kneeling on top of a young Aaron.
“They brainwashed me,” he says, not looking at me. “Beat me. Drugged my food. I was lucky to get out. That’s why—” He breaks off, as if the thought is too painful to finish.
“That’s why you dumped my wine.”
He rubs his hands over his face, as if to scrub out the memory. “I may have overreacted back there. It’s just, sometimes this place reminds me so much . . .” He shakes his head.
“But New Jerusalem isn’t like that place. You’re safe here. You’ve found Salvation.”
As I say the words, though, I can’t ignore that somehow, they don’t hold the comfort they used to. Did Delilah have doubts like this? Is that why she ran?
Goose bumps tickle my arms and I say, too loud, “Caleb gave me a message from Delilah. About your father. I need to talk to him.”
“What kind of message?” he asks sharply.
“She said, ‘Who’s more faithful than Abraham?’”
I watch him closely, to see if these words mean any more to him than they do to me. But he just jams his fists into his pockets and tilts his head back. I mimic him, but I don’t find any answers, just the same vast expanse of stars and sky stretching far beyond the limits of the city.
“I guess we could go see my parents,” Aaron finally says. “They’d like to spend more time with us, anyway. Get to know you.”
“I guess they probably find it odd. You being with a woman.”
“Miriam!”
“What? We are alone.” I gesture to the empty courtyard.
“Are we?” This isn’t the first time he’s implied that he thinks someone is listening.
“Yes,” I snap, impatient with his fear. “And why does it matter, anyway?” It’s like I told Caleb. I’m tired of following someone else’s rules all the time, especially when a lot of them seem like they’re designed to control me rather than to help me. “Why shouldn’t we talk freely? We’re married, after all. We aren’t supposed to have secrets.”
He raises one eyebrow, and shame washes over me, so sharp I shrink back another step. But he has no right to be angry. “You know what doesn’t make sense to me?” I ask. “Why you’d dream of Rachel.”
“What are you talking about?”
I look him directly in the eye. “Because she’s a woman.” The last word comes out bitter. I’m angry, too. Not at his betrayal, but because he lied. Either about loving a man or about his reasons for wanting to switch wives with Marcus.
“Don’t do this,” he says, his voice quiet. “Not here. Let’s go back to the apartment. We can talk about it there.”
I try to remember my exact conversation with Caleb, but it’s jumbled with our kisses and our argument. “Caleb said you were in love with someone else. I thought he meant Marcus, but he was talking about Rachel, wasn’t he?”
Aaron presses his lips into a thin line and looks away.
“I don’t care what you do, or who you do it with,” I continue, though it isn’t exactly the truth. Mostly I try not to think about it, because when I do I have too many questions about how it all works. “But you could have at least been honest with me.”
“I have been as honest with you as I can.” He grabs my wrist. “It’s your boyfriend who’s lying. I knew I didn’t trust that guy.”
Like a reflex, I pull away. But Aaron doesn’t let go.
“Look at me,” he commands. When I don’t, he flings my hand, as if tossing trash. “For fuck’s sake.”
I wince at his vulgarity. I’ve heard men swear before, my father in particular, but Aaron is usually more civil.
“It didn’t matter to me who I ended up with. For obvious reasons. But Marcus is in love with Susanna. I know, because he whined about it Every. Fucking. Day before the Matrimony. So I figured I’d help him out. Tell him I dreamt of Rachel, offer to switch.”
I massage my wrist as he stomps back to the road, toward our apartment building.
“I don’t know what to believe,” I call out. Marcus does love Susanna, that seems apparent. And Aaron has been brutally honest with me about everything else. Why would he lie about this? But he also said he’d dreamt of Rachel. So which is true? My mind turns it over like a ball of yarn unraveling.
Aaron turns and walks back to where I stand. “I don’t know why Caleb told you any of this in the first place. If he had just kept his mouth shut . . . You were better off not knowing.” He pounds his fist against his forehead and mutters, “What the hell was I thinking?”
“You may not trust Caleb,” I say, “but you sound just like him. All of you men think you know better than us what we women need.”
Aaron tilts his head, as if he’s listening to the echo of my words. “You’re exactly right. And do you know why?” He enunciates each word carefully. “Because we’re parroting Daniel. Just like we’ve been taught.” He’s standing too close, and his lips graze my ear. The intimacy of the gesture unnerves me, and I back away.
“Parroting him?” I’m tired of Aaron’s tirade. I start for home, skirting the places the palm tree roots have buckled the road. “We aren’t birds. We’re . . .” I’m about to say followers but suddenly that sounds weak. I decide on “apostles” instead.
“Apostles.” Aaron snorts. “Because he’s what, God?”
“He’s not God,” I say automatically. “He’s the Living Prophet. He guides us.”
“Guides you to what?” Aaron asks, following behind me.
“To Righteousness.”
“If you keep following him, you’re headed somewhere. But it sure as hell ain’t righteousness. Trust me.”
“Why would God choose him, then, if he isn’t righteous?”
“How do you know God chose him? Because he told you?”
My heart is pounding uncomfortably fast. None of what Aaron is saying is true. It can’t be. He’s just trying to shock me with his nasty words and insinuations. “You make it sound like he’s a terrible person. But he’s saved us. He protects us from the dangers Outside.” Doesn’t he? The doubt itches like dirty wool, and I try to push it from my head as Aaron shoves past me.
“I envy you your trust, Miriam.”
And because I’m watching him instead of where I’m going, I stumble and trip ov
er one of the cracks. The foundation my life is built upon is more precarious than I have been led to believe. It’s all crumbling beneath me, and I have no idea where I stand anymore.
33
MIRIAM
I CONTINUED WATCHING BECAUSE OF THE AUDACIOUS WORDS THAT THE HORN WAS SPEAKING.
—Daniel 7:11
There are seasons, even in the desert, and spring is the season of marriage. It’s also the season of planting, and every day Daniel finds new ways to tie the two together. Chapel, which used to be a source of comfort for me, is now a chore. Where I once thought I could pray away all my doubts and sins, I’m now suffocated by them. Packed into this room, with the hundred other members of the community, I feel both smothered and exposed.
“We reap and we sow,” Daniel cries. As he dances about the pulpit as if the fire of the Holy Spirit burns beneath his feet, I sit beside Aaron on the hard wooden pew, careful not to let our bodies touch.
What are we sowing, any of us? If I am to believe Aaron, none of these marriages were sanctioned by God. Does my mother think this way, too? Is that why she never talks about her own marriage? I seek out her bowed head, across the room. No. My mother has always been one of Daniel’s most faithful followers. If she believed for one second that God didn’t approve of her marriage . . . But what would she have done? What could she have done? All the times she told me, “This is what God wants”—did she really mean what Daniel wants?
“God cannot be deceived. He who sows for pleasures of the flesh will only reap destruction; we all know this.”
He may as well be talking about Caleb and me. But we’ve sown something else, too: falsehood and infidelity. I shudder to think what kind of harvest that will bring.
Caleb. Just thinking his name makes my heart ache, but where it used to hurt from love, now the pain comes from disappointment. Women can’t speak to God; we aren’t capable of making our own decisions. How could he say those things to me? How could he think them? But I know how. Daniel has sown this, too, this imbalance between the men and the women; unlike the meager vegetables we harvest from the sandy desert soil, the roots of this belief go deep.
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