Time Next

by Carolyn Cohagan

  “You don’t want to talk, or you’ve had no revelations?”

  “Neither,” says Connie.

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” says Kalyb with assurance.

  “I want breakfast,” she says with agitation.

  “Good!” says Kalyb. “That’s the beginning of your journey––knowing what you want. Now you have to figure out how to obtain it. And how do we get what we want?”

  Everyone but Juda chants: by letting God’s light into our hearts.

  “How about you, Mary?”

  He looks at a large girl with black hair and creamy skin whose foot bounces with agitation against her leg. She smiles sweetly. “Oh, uh, I don’t want breakfast. Is that what you want me to say?”

  Kalyb doesn’t falter. “I don’t want you to say anything, Mary. I only want you to find peace in the light.”

  “You only want me to find peace in being light,” Mary says.

  Ruth and Connie laugh.

  Kalyb waves his right hand. “I want you to unburden yourself and find happiness. You know that, Mary.” His eyebrows knit together. “No more sass today. No one likes an impudent woman.”

  He narrows his eyes, looking around the circle. “How about you, Juda? How are you this morning?”

  Juda stares at him icily.

  “It’s a simple question and one I know you can answer.”

  “I’m great. The world is paradise.” My breath quickens at the sound of Juda’s voice, even though it drips with sarcasm.

  “As you know, we don’t use that kind of tone in this room. Would you like to try again?”

  “Not really.”

  “Would you like to go have a visit with Solomon?”

  Panic passes across Juda’s face. “No,” he says.

  “No, what?”

  “No, Kalyb,” says Juda.

  “Good. Then let’s try again.” Kalyb’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “How are you today, Juda?”

  “Fine, Kalyb.”

  “Do you have any revelations to share with us today?”

  Juda gives me a fleeting look before saying, “No, Kalyb.”

  “Are you sure?” Kalyb asks, staring at him without blinking.

  Juda glowers back. His dislike for Kalyb is so strong, I can almost taste it in the air.

  Shifting in his seat, Juda looks at the floor. “I, uh, meditated on my past sins and asked God to forgive my, uh, belief in a false prophet.”

  I have to fight to keep from making a sound, but I’m sure my eyes bug out of my head. A false prophet? Juda has converted? I’ve been making my own attempt to accept the Savior of the Unbound, but I never thought in a million years I would hear Juda reject his beliefs. He’s so much stronger than I am.

  “Very good! Thank you, Juda.” Kalyb rubs his hands together. “Who’s next? How about you, Mina?”

  I jump a little in my seat. What does he want me to say? The same thing as Juda?

  “I don’t see why we have to have session with them,” says the boy with glasses as he glares at Juda and me.

  Kalyb smiles patiently. “We’ve discussed this, Jeffrey. And if you could let in the light this morning, I think you might feel better.”

  “How about you tell them to let in the light,” says Jeffrey, pointing his finger at us.

  Connie nods.

  “Well, I just might if you give me the chance,” says Kalyb, his eyes crinkling again.

  Jeffrey blows out his lips with an exasperated sound.

  Kalyb turns back to me. “How are you today, Mina?”

  “Um,” I say. I look around the room, avoiding eye contact with Jeffrey. “Nervous?” I offer, although this seems like an understatement.

  “That’s normal on your first day, isn’t it, children?” he says, looking at the others. From their expressions, I can see that none of them appreciates being called a child.

  Juda doesn’t look at me. He sits with his arms crossed in front of him, jaw clenched.

  “How about you tell us why you’re here?” Kalyb says.

  Mary stares at me, riveted.

  “I played a joke?” I say.

  Kalyb’s smile disappears. “A joke? That’s what you call it?”

  Tabby thought it would be hilarious, but I can’t say her name. “It was supposed to be a prank.”

  “Hundreds of people went home crying, and a beautiful night was ruined. That’s funny to you?” says Kalyb.

  Everyone in the circle gapes at me and a few lean in to hear more. The way Kalyb describes it, you’d think I threw a grenade at Prom.

  “No,” I say quietly. “It wasn’t funny.”

  “No. It was not. It was shameful and wicked. How do you think you might atone for what you did?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m . . . new here.”

  “Yes, you are from the island. And refugees can have a difficult time adjusting. You have suffered a lot of trauma, and it can be hard, even when you’re surrounded by a solid new family that loves you. But that’s no excuse. We still expect you to act like thoughtful human beings and not animals.” He looks at Juda when he says the word “animal.”

  “Who here can tell Mina what the first step is toward redemption?”

  Ruth raises her hand. “She has to get clean.”

  “Very good,” says Kalyb. “You must purify yourself, purify your soul. You’ll let God into your heart and only then will you be able to tell us why you’re here––what you did and how you will atone. Luckily for all of us we have a spiritual leader here at the Forgiveness Home who specializes in purification. This morning, Mina, you will have the honor of meeting him.”

  I glance at Juda. He looks at me with such pity and sorrow that, for the first time since arriving in Kingsboro, I become truly terrified.

  Eighteen

  Group doesn’t end until everyone in the circle has spoken, each person telling Kalyb in one way or another that they’re working on repentance through thoughts and prayers.

  Kalyb asks us all to join hands, saying, “God can forgive you for making mistakes. Mistakes are how we learn what is right and what is wrong. The only real mistake we can make is to remain in a state of denial and to continue to repeat our sins. God will lose patience, and he’ll punish you as if you never believed in him at all. Bless you all in this journey. May you find the strength to walk the righteous path and let in the light. So be it.”

  “So be it,” everyone echoes.

  When people stand to leave, I try to move closer to Juda, but Kalyb reaches me first, placing his hand on my elbow. His skin emits a strange smell—candied fruit on top of mildew. “Wasn’t that freeing?” he asks.

  “Free” is the opposite of how I feel, but I nod.

  He guides me unhurriedly out of the room. “This way,” he says, leading me down a hall, away from the others.

  Turning my head, I give Juda the quickest of smiles. He gives me an open-mouthed look of wonder that can only mean one thing: why are you here?

  I thought he’d be so happy to see me, and instead, he seems perplexed and sad.

  Kalyb turns down another hall, stopping at a rusted door. “Think over what you learned today. I’ll see you in session again tomorrow morning, and then we’ll have a one-on-one consultation in the afternoon.” Pushing the door open, he leads me outside. We step into a courtyard with gravel and rocks on the ground. Concrete walls surround us on each side, but the patch of blue sky above allows me to relax a little, like someone has loosened shoes that were too tight.

  A man in white stands in the corner of the courtyard with his arms crossed in front of him. His enormous head appears to rest on his stocky body without the benefit of a neck. His nose is squashed at the tip, as if he just ran into a door. Blond hair is smoothed across his pink forehead, but one unlikely curl pops up above his left eye. He looks impatient, as if he’s been waiting for us a long time. A metal trunk rests near his feet.

  “Go to the wall,” the man says.

  I look to Kalyb for instruct
ion, but he nods at the man and leaves the courtyard.

  “Go to the wall, and don’t make me repeat myself,” says the man. His voice is deep and resonant, as if he can only breathe through his mouth.

  “I don’t know––” I say.

  “Did I ask you to speak?” he says with more volume.

  Which of the four walls does he mean? Choosing the one closest to me, on my right, I walk and stand next to it.

  The man approaches, stepping so close I can smell his breath, which stinks like rotten meat. “Put your hands on the wall,” he says.

  My hands tremble as they touch the cold concrete. I hear him shuffling behind me. Is he going to touch me with those red, beefy hands? Bile rises in my throat.

  The metal trunk opens and closes, and then he’s beside me again, saying, “This is your new backpack. Each rock inside represents one of your sins. You will wear it to remind yourself of your burden and how far you need to travel to be welcomed by God into his kingdom.” He grabs my left arm and slides on a strap. The sudden weight yanks down my shoulder. He seizes my right arm and pulls up the other strap, and then he steps away.

  I immediately fall onto the ground, the heaviness of the rocks bringing me down like a turtle on its shell.

  He laughs. “Oops. Looks like the sin is bigger than the girl.” He chuckles some more. “Stand up,” he says.

  When I begin to take off the straps of the backpack, he says, “I didn’t say you could take that off, did I?”

  When I don’t answer, he repeats, “Did I?”

  “No,” I say.

  “No, what?”

  “No, sir?” I say.

  “I am not ‘sir.’ I am not your father nor your cleric. I go by the name God gave me: Solomon.”

  God named this man? “Yes, Solomon.”

  “Better. Now, stand.”

  I attempt to stand with the backpack on––my stomach tightening as I raise my head and arms––but it’s much too heavy. I can’t lift even an inch off the ground.

  Solomon shakes his head, making a clucking sound. “So much burden. How can we remove some of the sin so that you might stand?”

  The rocks dig into my lower back. The area only recently stopped stinging from the burn my mother caused, but the skin is still tender and sore. “I don’t know,” I say, and then quickly add, “Solomon.”

  “Let’s think, shall we?” He paces around my head. “Perhaps there are some things you would like to tell God? Some untruths that you have told?”

  My mind races. What does Solomon know or not know?

  He bends so that his face appears right above mine. Again, I can smell his putrid breath. “Do you have anything to share, Mina Clark?”

  “No, Solomon.”

  Walking to the corner of the yard, he grabs another rock. He unzips the backpack under my head. “That’s another lie.” He adds the rock and zips it back up.

  I’m worried I might cry, but I don’t want to give Solomon the satisfaction. I must find something to say. I consider what Kalyb said earlier about how serious my prank was. “I ruined Promise Prom.”

  “Okay. That’s a good start.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Don’t make me add another rock.”

  I say what he wants to hear: “I did mean to.”

  “Okay. Good. Why?”

  I can’t say that I wanted to be here in the Forgiveness Home. He might decide to keep me away from Juda forever.

  “Perhaps you hated those girls for showing their flesh?” he asks. “You thought it was shameful that they don’t cover up as your people do?”

  “No! I never––”

  “You felt they should be punished for tempting the men around them?”

  I haven’t gotten used to women showing their faces and skin so easily, but I don’t think I’ve sat in judgment.

  “Did you not feel a deep sense of shame when the Dixons made you walk around without your veil? Did you not fear your Prophet would send you to Hell?” When he says “Prophet” his voice is full of mockery.

  As the rocks cut deeper into my back, I wonder if I’m bleeding. I look at the wall of the Forgiveness Home, searching the windows for someone walking by.

  “No one there is going to help you,” Solomon says with glee. “I’m in charge.”

  I look back at his squashed, spiteful face. How long will he make me lie here if I don’t say I wanted to punish those other girls? Maybe agreeing with him is the smartest thing to do.

  “I . . . I . . . I was jealous,” I sputter.

  His eyes flash. “Of what?”

  My mind races. “Of the girls––the attention they were getting.”

  “You wanted attention?”

  “Yes, Solomon,” I say.

  “From your family? Do you wish your parents had shown you love and affection like the parents of the Unbound?”

  I’m not sure what the real answer is. Something about the Unbound fathers giving their daughters jewelry––it seemed caring but also sort of strange in a way I can’t express. But that is not what Solomon wants to hear, so I say, “Yes, Solomon. I wish I’d had more love and attention.”

  Solomon reaches under my head, unzips the backpack and removes a rock. “You have admitted to the sin of vanity. Very good. God is proud.” He steps back. “Can you stand?”

  I lift my head and flex my legs, but I’m still unable to get up.

  “Okay then, Mina. What other burdens would you like to rid yourself of?”

  I take a deep breath. I haven’t had breakfast. The sun is rising higher, causing the air to grow dank and hot. I might be able to stand if Solomon removes two or three more rocks. Surely I can think of three more sins to confess?

  “I broke the rules at the Dixons’ house,” I say. “I snuck out without permission.”

  “Ah, yes,” says Solomon. “I heard about this. I suggested that the Dixons send you to me immediately, but they insisted that you should get a second chance.”

  I could’ve been here seeing Juda last week?

  “Why did you sneak out of the house?”

  “I wanted to see my friends.”

  “Why?” he says, crunching the gravel with his feet as he paces. “Did you all arrive here wanting to hurt and deceive the Unbound?”

  “No!” I say, realizing the danger we’ll be in if Solomon believes there’s a conspiracy. “We were running away from the island. We were trying to be safe. We hoped––we prayed––that there might be people who could help us.”

  “And we’ve kept you safe, right? Yet this is how you repay us: by breaking our rules, by lying, and by ruining a beloved occasion.”

  I have another idea. “I needed to see my brother,” I say.

  “Why?” he asks, excited at the revelation.

  “He’s . . . uh . . . a little slow sometimes. He can get confused in new situations.” Has Solomon met Dekker?

  “Why did you need to see him?”

  “He finds my presence calming.” This is the biggest lie I’ve told so far.

  “So you were trying to soothe your brother by sneaking around late at night and peeking into windows?”

  He makes it sound pretty stupid. “I thought he would feel better if he saw my face.”

  “I think you wanted to spend time out at night, in the park, with the Dixon boy,” he says in a disgusted tone, as if I’m a whore.

  “No!” I say. I’ll confess to his fabrications, but I won’t let him turn me into some sort of tramp.

  “Everyone in town knows he’s your boyfriend,” he says. “It didn’t take you long to sink your woolie claws into him, did it?”

  “It’s not true.”

  “Why should I believe you? You’re a liar and a sinner, and that boy has been telling everyone.”

  I went to Promise Prom with Silas, but has he been telling people that I’m his girlfriend? Has he told so many people that Solomon has heard? Or does Solomon hear everything, like a Bee?

  “I don’t care wha
t he said. He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “So why did you go to the Prom together?”

  Why does he care so much? Is he disgusted by the idea of a member of the Unbound with a woolie? Or is it an actual sin?

  “Silas Dixon has not tried to be physically intimate with you?”

  My body stiffens. Is that what Silas has been telling people? “No! Silas asked me to Prom . . . that was all.”

  “Have you held his hand? Or kissed him?”

  “No, Solomon.”

  “How can you prove it?”

  The only thing I can do is tell him that I love someone else, but I won’t do that. “Silas is lying,” I whisper.

  “What’s that?” he says.

  “He’s lying! I swear to God and the Savior that Silas is LYING!” I say, growing furious.

  “Okay,” Solomon says in a new friendly voice. He reaches under my head and takes another rock out from the backpack. I could weep from relief.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he says.

  One more rock and I should be able to stand. My head spins as I try to think of something else to say.

  Before I can come up with anything, Solomon says, “Why did you come here?”

  “The Promise Prom. I ruined––”

  “No!” he says. “Why did you leave Manhattan? And remember, I have one of you woolies in here already, so I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  Juda wouldn’t tell him anything. Right?

  “I told you, we were in danger––” I begin.

  “Why were you in danger? Why were you running away?”

  “My in-laws––my future in-laws––were after us.”

  “Did you steal something from them?”

  “No, Solomon. They wanted me to marry their son, Damon.”

  “Four other people were willing to risk their lives, defy Uncle Ruho, and come through a flooded tunnel just so you wouldn’t have to get married?”

  Shame swells in the core of my belly. “It was more complicated than that.”

  “Tell me.”

  My eyes fill with tears. How can I explain all the things that happened that made us decide to leave? And how am I to know if he’ll feel sympathy for anything that happens on the island? He doesn’t seem like a man who experiences compassion for anyone or anything.