Sins of the Mother

by August Norman

  Caitlin had to hold back a laugh. Somebody obviously wanted her to find something in the third drawer. “I’m saving the best for last.”

  She opened the drawer to see her own face, or at least the back cover to her first book, a nonfiction investigation of LAPD corruption. The brand-new-looking copy sat on top of a pile of articles photocopied from her paper in Los Angeles.

  “Oh, those shouldn’t be in there,” Gwendolyn said. “Desmond frowns upon non-Dayan reading materials. I guess Magda really cared about you.”

  Like the framed photo in the back of the town car the day before, the whole performance made Caitlin want to barf. Still, she reached for the props and played her part. “I guess she did.”

  She flipped through the pages, hoping for some handwriting or even some highlighting, but the copy couldn’t have been out of a bookstore for more than a week. She slid the drawer shut, wondering why they’d bothered to plant the book and articles. Did they think the portrait of a proud mother would help Caitlin go away happy, or was this just a layer of protection?

  Take the reporter to the guest room, put some shit in it to make it look lived in, then send her on her way.

  Of course, the solution could be much simpler: nobody wanted a journalist digging through their secrets. “This is very sweet, but I was hoping for some of Magda’s writing. Did she keep a journal or anything?”

  “Oh no,” Gwendolyn said, scandalized by the concept. “That wouldn’t be allowed.”

  “Not even as self-reflection, part of experiencing religious growth?”

  “We used to do so, but the practice stopped when Linda ascended.”

  “Ascended?”

  Gwendolyn started to answer, then stopped. “We no longer journal.”

  Caitlin’s hands tightened around the bag over her shoulder. She’d made the right move leaving the journal in the hotel room.

  “Guess that’s just the writer in me. No photos either?”

  Sunrise smiled, once again fingering the chunky beads around her neck. “We don’t have the same image consciousness as the rest of society. Simple living, lived simply.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Caitlin said, noticing no jewelry or accessories anywhere in the room supposedly belonging to Magda. She tried something new. “Is the namesake here today?”

  “The namesake?”

  “You are Dayans, right? I’ve seen Desmond, but I’d love to meet the one and only Daya.”

  Sunrise’s beaming demeanor went down a shade.

  Caitlin played nice. “Unless she’s no longer with the organization, hence the switch to the Daughters of God name?”

  “Daya’s still with us,” Sunrise said, her smile back and brighter than ever. “But unfortunately, she’s unavailable at this time.”

  Caitlin wandered toward the window. “Maybe later?”

  “Possibly.”

  She sensed no possibility in Gwendolyn’s use of the word. Even though the bedroom was near the middle of the building, she could once again see the plume of smoke rising from the top of the hill.

  “What’s up the hill? Barbecue?”

  “We’re vegetarians.”

  “Still, throw a little bit of sea salt, olive oil, and rosemary onto some potatoes and carrots, put them on a tray over a fire, and that’s some good eating. Don’t quote me on that recipe; it’s something I got at a restaurant. I don’t do a lot of cooking, do you?”

  “I did when I became a Daughter. Cooking, sewing, digging ditches, latrines even. We all do our part.”

  “When did you join, Gwendolyn?”

  “Oh, it’s hard to remember a time before I was a Daughter.”

  “Sure, what lady likes to talk about her age?”

  “The truth is, we believe that the past is something to learn from, then abandon. The Spirit sees us in each moment. In a way, we are reborn every morning.”

  “Hence your name,” Caitlin said. “Sunrise, right? That’s your Dayan name?”

  “Why would you think—”

  “Because Maya became Magda, Lily became Eve. It’s been a while since I’ve looked over my name origins, but Gwendolyn means fair or white something, doesn’t it?”

  For once, Gwendolyn’s smile looked real. “That’s close. White ring.”

  “The white ring of sunrise,” Caitlin said. “It’s beautiful. Were you an attorney before you were Gwendolyn?”

  “Not quite. I’d dropped out two semesters into law school. You might not believe this, but it was your mother who convinced me to finish and pass the bar.”

  “I don’t know what to believe.” Caitlin looked around the sparse room. “I dropped out of college a month shy of graduation, but she wasn’t there for me.”

  “She couldn’t have been, Caitlin.”

  “They had planes flying to Indiana twice a day out of LAX.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Maya Aronson couldn’t have helped you, because Maya Aronson couldn’t help herself. Magda didn’t become Magda overnight, and I didn’t become Gwendolyn for years.”

  “I get it, but Magda forgot how to use a phone?”

  “It’s not that simple. You see—”

  Caitlin wasn’t letting up. “You don’t get a signal up here either?”

  “There are no phones on God’s Hill, mobile or otherwise. We receive our messages straight from heaven.”

  “In town, though. She could have borrowed a phone, checked the computer at the library.”

  Gwendolyn played with her chunky beads. “Our rules forbid—”

  “Screw it,” Caitlin said, walking toward the door. What did she expect from her mother’s friends? Gwendolyn Sunrise had probably left a dozen kids to join up with Desmond Pratten’s hilltop circus—anything to feel special. “Want to show me where you make the sweaters and scarves?”

  Gwendolyn hustled to keep up while pulling her walkie-talkie out. “Of course, I just need to—”

  “Make a call first. Please do.”

  Five minutes later, the dogs and ponies had been arranged enough for Gwendolyn to walk them both from the main house to one of the sheet-metal outbuildings, where a dozen women in red sat at a long table covered with fabric, yarn, and sewing accessories.

  Some sewed, some knitted, some might have been spinning gold for all Caitlin knew. The whole thing had a living-historical-village feel.

  “No blacksmith?” she said.

  If Gwendolyn was offended, it didn’t show. “Not quite, but we do have a fully functional machine shop.”

  They toured that next, then a kitchen, cafeteria, and their medical center, then headed back through the central fields for a detailed look at the various fresh vegetables. Lots of ladies, cucumbers, and eggplant, but not a single man other than Desmond.

  “Gwendolyn, I couldn’t help but wonder, is Desmond the only man on God’s Hill?”

  “For over a decade,” Gwendolyn answered, smiling like that was an accomplishment. “At first, we communed as both males and females, but the energy the men brought caused violence, jealousy, and complications.”

  “Complications? Like fights?”

  Gwendolyn nodded emphatically. “Daya called them distractions from our mission. Since they’ve gone, we’ve risen closer to the Spirit than we ever imagined.”

  “Sure. Who needs the hassle?” Caitlin checked her phone. No signal, but the time was her real worry: 5:47 PM. “Can you see if Desmond has retrieved my information yet? I’d like to leave before it gets dark.”

  Gwendolyn stepped away with her walkie-talkie to relay the request. Caitlin couldn’t be sure, but the plume of smoke at the hilltop seemed more active than before.

  She returned moments later. “Desmond regrets that he has been unable to find his notes yet. He’s confident he’ll locate them tonight after our services. Of course, if you’d like to come back another time—”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Wonderful. In that case, we’re about to meet for dinner. Since you’re not a Dayan, we can’t invite you to shar
e our meal, but we can have a plate made for you.”

  Caitlin had no intention of eating their food. “I’ve got a granola bar in my bag. I’ll just wander around the grounds.”

  “Maybe you’d prefer to wait in Magda’s room?” Gwendolyn’s question ended in the right punctuation, but the tone implied little to none of the interrogative tense.

  “Even better.” Caitlin followed the crimson queen back to the main house.

  “Can we get you some water?” Gwendolyn said, perched in the doorway once again.

  Caitlin pulled a still-sealed store-bought bottle of water from her bag and plopped down on the bed. “I’m good. How long do you think it’ll be?”

  “No more than an hour.”

  “Great, do you—”

  The shutting of the door ended their conversation.

  Caitlin didn’t mind. She needed a break to process the day’s events. A lot had changed since Mama Maya signed up, and no one was offering the whole story. The physical copy of the journal was back at the hotel, but Caitlin had added the scanned version to her phone’s digital library. She ripped open a granola bar and went back in search of the truth.

  CHAPTER

  29

  February 16, 1996

  I’M LOOKING AT the previous pages and am at a loss for words. I haven’t written in or even looked at this notebook for two and a half years. In fact, this is just about the three-year anniversary of my first voyage to Linda, Desmond, and Daya.

  I’m so happy to have started this journey. I look back at poor Maya, struggling to pay her bills, loaded with self-doubt, juggling pills and booze and guilt, and can’t believe how far we’ve come. Not just me, all of the Dayans.

  We left the hills near the Angeles National Forest and returned to Hollywood using Linda’s house as a base of operations. Desmond placed his trust in my judgment, and we began a recruiting phase that grew our numbers from under a hundred to over a thousand, and our property holdings to ten locations in four cities. LA, Santa Monica, Santa Barbara, and San Francisco. I don’t mean to take credit for what has always been the Spirit’s plan, but I do feel joy for my part in the movement.

  It all started out of the realization of my gift. Bev and I returned to Hollywood, but not for porn. We started simple, taking a van full of girls to the clubs to see what would happen. In the beginning, we’d end up with a handful of guys happy to return to whatever afterparty was going on. But it wasn’t only guys. There’s something infectious about our energy. So pure, so confident, so sexy. Like my first night at Linda’s house, the pickups were blown away by the vibe. It wasn’t for everyone, but the right ones heard the message and felt the love. Some men even contributed money toward the cause, especially if it meant time with a lady or two. I can’t believe I once felt shame for this natural invitation.

  Tonight is our last night in California. Tomorrow, all four cities’ worth of Dayans will move to a hilltop compound in Oregon, our new God’s Hill, the one from Linda’s vision.

  This feeling is electric, this mood is pure.

  We are the Light.

  Soon we will be the Light on the hill.

  Soon we will all be with God.

  * * *

  February 17, 1996

  Holy freaking shit.

  We met at Linda’s house last night. No one had seen her in weeks. At dusk, thirty of us gathered on the front lawn around the fire pit. I assumed Desmond was going to give us a message before we made the move to Oregon, and he was, but just as he began, Daya pushed Linda out of the house in a wheelchair.

  Her voice was weak, but her words were clear. “I know the time,” she said.

  Everyone knew what she meant.

  Desmond looked as surprised as the rest of us.

  “You didn’t tell me—” he started, but Linda launched into her latest vision.

  “I won’t be there,” she said, “but the Spirit’s power will be an awful force. Not awful as in terrible, though the destruction will be worldwide, but awful as in an occurrence every bit as miraculous as the earth’s creation, but in reverse. Insects, tortured by years of man’s pesticides, disappear. Animals, creatures we were meant to hold dominion over, die off, ravaged by infections caused by the chemicals we put into the water and air. But when nature turns on man, instead of begging for forgiveness, instead of clinging to the land and simple life like we do every day, man will look at the dying forests and fields, and the oceans full of garbage, and turn on each other.”

  At this point, Linda’s voice no longer sounded weak. Her cheeks turned red as she gripped the arms of her chair.

  “They’ll start with religion. Wars about who knows God best. Then they’ll fight for power over technology. The biggest bombs, the smartest killing machines, the fastest computers. Each country will claim ownership instead of sharing, fearing each other instead of growing together. They’ll find hate in accents and sexual behaviors, fear in every foreigner. Then, mired in hate, they’ll fight for the last scraps of food and access to clean water. That’s when God will come, that’s when it all ends.”

  Linda snagged a hankie from the sleeve of her sweater and wiped the corner of her mouth.

  We all took a collective breath, sure she had finished her message, but she struggled up to her feet. Daya moved around to catch her in case she fell, but Linda pulled her shoulders back and yelled.

  “February seventeenth.” Her clear voice cut through me like she was inside my head. “In the year of our Lord’s return, two thousand and sixteen. Twenty years from today.”

  I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Looking around, I knew we all did. Except maybe Desmond. He looked angry.

  “Linda.” He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Surely you can’t know the exact—”

  “The seventeenth,” she repeated. “I will not see this glorious day, but you will, my beautiful children.”

  She stepped forward on her own, walking toward the fire pit.

  “In the past, every time I saw this scene, I watched from the top of the mountain, our glorious God’s Hill, but not this time. Now I looked down through a shaft of pure white, down from heaven. As the world burned around the Dayans, your faces turned up to me. And as you called to me, I heard a voice, His voice. ‘Don’t despair,’ he said. ‘The Dayans will not suffer. Daya and Desmond, Magda and Beverly—’ ”

  I couldn’t have spoken at that moment if I’d been commanded to. We all clung to every word Linda said.

  “ ‘You know their names?’ I said unto God. He laughed, a gentle, pure laugh of a summer day. ‘Their actions, my child. While the world around them bickered and destroyed, your people built, called to others, lived in my purity and splendor. Now call to them, Linda. Bring them here.’ ”

  I was crying now. We all were.

  Linda reached out to us. “And so I did. I called to each of you, and up you came. As the mortal world burned, we joined hands and sang in joy. When the last of us arrived, everything went white, and I knew I was returning to this time and this body. ‘Wait,’ I said, struggling to stay in the moment. ‘They need to know the date so that they might prepare as many voyagers as possible.’ Before my eyes opened, His voice spoke one last time. ‘The age when you first saw the hill. That age, from this day.’ ”

  Linda looked into the fire, then turned back toward everyone. “On my wedding night, the first sleep of my honeymoon and the consecration of my marriage to gluttony and avarice, I had my first vision of God’s Hill. I was twenty years old then. The Cataclysm will come on February seventeenth, two thousand and sixteen. The Dayans will ascend while the world ends.”

  In our heads, we all took a collective breath, floored by the weight of her vision. That’s why no one caught her when she collapsed.

  “Please,” Desmond yelled. “Give us space.”

  He lifted Linda’s unconscious body into the wheelchair, and he and Daya wheeled her into the house.

  Minutes later, Desmond returned and told us Linda was sleeping s
oundly, and that we should all do the same.

  So we went to our beds, speaking for hours about the date determined to be the end of all days, before finally falling asleep. Near three in the morning, I woke to a gentle hand on my shoulder. Daya put a finger to her lips and motioned to follow her. Quietly, we went down the hall to Linda’s room.

  A single lamp was on, and I could see Linda in her bed, her head toward the wall, the back of her white nightgown visible, with Desmond standing beside her.

  “How is she?” I whispered. “Do you need anything?”

  Desmond rose with a smile and met us at the door. “Yes, Magda. We have a big day tomorrow, and Daya and I should sleep. Would you do something for us?”

  “Anything.”

  “Stay here, in case Linda needs anything.”

  “Of course,” I said, ready to lie on the floor next to her bed.

  “You won’t need to be in the room,” he said, handing me a pillow. “But if you could sit in the hall where you can hear if she calls out and make sure that no one tries to disturb her, you’d be giving us an amazing gift.”

  Daya nodded through a tired smile. “We only need three or four hours, then we’ll be back.”

  Gladly accepting the assignment, I closed the door and sat up against it so no one could possibly go near without going through me.

  When Desmond returned hours later, no one had.

  “Let’s check on the patient,” he said, opening the door.

  We tiptoed inside, careful not to make any noise.

  But when I saw the bed, I couldn’t believe what had happened.

  “Where is she?” I said, not whispering at all. The bedding lay crumpled like it’d been slept in, but she wasn’t there. It’s only a small bedroom, maybe ten by ten feet, no bathroom, one closet.

  I checked the closet, and under the bed, then the windows. The dual sliding-glass panels looked out over the city, but the curtains were drawn and the screens were intact. Plus, I couldn’t imagine Linda climbing out, then somehow putting everything back in place.

  Desmond fell to his knees, laughing.

  I was freaking out. “What are you laughing about? She’s fucking gone.”