Chosen

by Lesley Glaister

  ‘Jacob,’ Adam said, his face relaxing as he exhaled. ‘Praise the Lord. Jacob.’

  ‘I don’t understand why Stella didn’t tell me – tell us,’ I said. But, of course, I did understand. This was just what she didn’t want. She didn’t want Adam to get his hands on the child. I thought it odd that she was prepared to give him Seth, yet keep his daughter and his grandson from him. But it turns out that she was wise in this. She was wiser than me.

  ‘Leave me,’ Adam said. His voice was faint. ‘I must think, I must pray.’

  Smiling significantly, Hannah went out.

  ‘Leave me,’ Adam repeated.

  ‘But I will pray with you,’ I said. ‘We’ll pray for guidance together.’

  He closed his eyes. A small mauve vein throbbed at his temple. He sighed. ‘Take me outside,’ he said. I didn’t think he was well enough to move, but still I helped him dress and held his arm as we walked a step at a time, outside to the back of the building. There’s a gate you can unlock there, that leads you to the edge of a wood where there are hundreds of crows’ nests in the trees. It was a blazing October day, and my eyes streamed in the brightness. I settled Adam on a folding chair with a blanket around him and another over his knees. The sun shone through the thin strands of his hair and I could see the greasy shine of his scalp, the capillaries in his cheeks, the pores in the skin behind the sparse straggles of his beard. His eyes were on me and I don’t like to think about what he saw in such remorseless illumination. The scarlet and yellow leaves at his feet were scattered with black feathers, streaks of white and squirrel bones where the birds had recently feasted.

  ‘Go now,’ he said, and closed his eyes. I stood for a few moments, watching, but I could feel him waiting for me to leave, and I obeyed.

  I decided that while I was waiting for him, I would go and see Seth for myself, see what he would tell me. I was on my way to him when I was intercepted by Hannah.

  ‘Where’s Adam?’ she asked, sharply.

  ‘Our Father is in contemplation,’ I said.

  ‘We must talk, Martha.’ Hannah opened the door on to an empty meditation room and more or less shoved me through it. Inside, we stood looking at each other. Though nearing sixty, she was still pretty – not conventionally, with her pointed nose and snaggly teeth, but there was something about her, about the way the lines worked on her cheeks and around her eyes, and she was slim and straight in her robe. I think vital is the word. But there was such slyness there too, such smugness. I wanted to spit in her eye.

  ‘I have sent for Adam’s daughter and his grandchild,’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I got Seth to write, inviting her to come.’

  ‘No.’

  In truth, I hadn’t made up my mind about this matter until that moment. But Stella didn’t want it. And if it was to be done, I should have been consulted first. I clenched my teeth to dam the surge of anger.

  ‘It is too late; the letter has gone. It is in God’s hands now,’ Hannah said, with a smile that managed to be both pious and triumphant.

  ‘Very well.’

  I got to Adam before she could. He was still praying, a dirty feather clutched between his fingers, a leaf lodged in his hair. I stood waiting until he looked at me and indicated his readiness to move. I helped him up and he leaned on me as we went back inside, where he consented to let me undress him and put him back to bed.

  ‘Well?’ I said, keeping my voice as patient as I could. ‘Did Jesus speak?’

  ‘My grandson, Jacob, is the saviour,’ he murmured, ‘and we must send for him. The sign is in the name.’

  In the rustle of the sheets I clearly heard Stella telling me no. Telling me to stop this happening. But how could I stop it now? When I opened my eyes Adam was gazing at me intently and I smoothed out my frown. His lower lids had begun to sag away from his eyes, giving him a bloodhound look.

  ‘Already done,’ I said.

  ‘My love,’ he said. I sat and stroked his hand, letting my finger slide into the place that was his thumb, such a soft declivity, sweet to touch and warm and alive and throbbing with a secret pulse.

  I had to face the truth then. He was dying. He was an old, deluded animal dragging himself through his last few weeks or even days. I had to be practical; I had to plan. I had to think of myself and of the future. I had to think of Seth and of you, Dodie; and now I had to think of Jake. When Adam went, what then? What would be left for me? Once he was gone, I would be leaving Soul-Life; that much at least was clear.

  I would find a doctor and get myself checked over – the breathlessness and the pains in my chest were worrying me, but, of course, even to think this within Soul-Life was blasphemy. I decided I’d buy you a house to make up for the loss of Lexicon Avenue – the profit from which had of course been absorbed into the Soul-Life bank. I did allow myself to dream that one day we might be a family and live together. All I ever really wanted was a family.

  Obadiah had taught me enough about the internet and about the financial side of things for me to be able to divert money into a fund of my own – I’d started it back when Adam first became ill. Why shouldn’t I be recompensed? I’d worked all my life for Soul-Life and now my love, and that life, was dying. What was I to do?

  †

  We awaited your arrival. Adam was nervous, agitated, anxious to see his grandson and so, of course, was I. No one could settle while we waited for you to make your decision and then your journey. I was determined it should be me who would welcome you, not Hannah. At last the day arrived. My heart had been fluttering in my chest since early in the morning, but it was afternoon and I was sitting with Adam, reading from the Bible, when Hannah charged in.

  ‘She’s at the gate,’ she said. ‘But she hasn’t brought the child.’

  ‘No child?’ Adam struggled to a sitting position. The stress brought on the pain in my own chest but I would let nothing stop me. I hardly cared about Jake just then, I so much wanted to see you. Would you remember me? You were such a little dot when I gave you back to Stella. But still, I hoped you might look into my face and remember something, perhaps just the sensation of being cared for and loved.

  I got up and dropped the Bible. ‘I’ll go,’ I said.

  ‘What shall we do?’ Hannah said. ‘Adam, what shall we do?’

  ‘Wait. We must pray.’

  ‘But she’s here!’ I said. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Wait.’ He gestured to each of us to kneel as he mumbled a prayer.

  I couldn’t pray; my mind was spinning. You were waiting at the gate. What if you went away? From between my lashes I looked at Hannah to see that she wasn’t praying either, but watching me.

  ‘Martha, you go and greet Dorcas,’ Adam said, and I couldn’t prevent a little dart of victory towards Hannah. ‘All is not lost. We must persuade her to bring the child.’ He closed his eyes again and frowned. It was as if he was having trouble tuning into a channel. ‘You must not tell her you are Stella’s sister,’ he said.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Think what Stella might have told her about you and me!’ He opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Telling her might scare her away and then I’ll never see my grandson. Welcome her in the parlour.’

  ‘And put sleeping drops in her tea,’ Hannah said.

  ‘But she’ll be tired anyway,’ I argued.

  ‘It will ensure docility,’ Adam said.

  The parlour was where we often greeted visitors. Adam didn’t like the unchosen within Soul-Life itself. The parlour was bugged, all conversations recorded, because there were those who threatened our existence. And if a person seemed to be a dangerous influence then the parlour was as far in as they got.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I said. ‘The poor girl is waiting.’

  ‘You must keep her here and remember, you are nothing to her, just Martha,’ Adam reminded me as I hurried off. My brain felt as if it was bulging against my skull, and my heart was pounding. I felt so dizzy I had to stop and lean on the wall to
steady my breath before I came out to greet you. And there you were. You were fidgeting outside the gate and I could barely breathe in your proximity when I came close: your hair so dark and glossy and gloriously thick like Adam’s once was; your eyes that intense bottle-glass blue; the fresh rosiness of your skin and the shape of your face, so much like Stella’s. So familiar to me and yet so much yourself.

  Almost the first words you said: ‘I’m bursting for the loo,’ and when you said that, so natural, so English, so like yourself, I could have swooned with love. To sit with you in the parlour; to breathe you in; to watch the expressions on your face, to touch you – I can’t tell you what joy these simple things gave me. I had to fight against the impulse to tell you who I was; to tell you that for nearly three years I brought you up as if you were my own.

  Of course you wanted, and expected, to see Seth – and right away. What were we to do? There was no question of letting you see him then. But if we hadn’t at least allowed you to speak to him on the phone, you might have left, or gone to the police perhaps. So Hannah was with Seth each time you spoke, helping him with his responses. In truth, I think she had him drugged so much he hardly knew where he was or what he was saying.

  Over those first few days it was agony for me to see you disappointed over and over again, and to have to be the one to disappoint you. But you see, Dodie, there was no other way to ensure we could get Jake – and the thought of Jake was the only thread of hope keeping Adam alive. And I do admit that I was longing to see him too: Adam’s grandson, my great-nephew, my blood.

  But each time you weren’t allowed to see Seth, it got harder to persuade you to stay. You were more goat than sheep. The idea, at first, was to smooth you through the Process so that you brought Jake to Soul-Life of your own free will. If you had been more malleable, more persuadable, we might have revealed that Adam was your true father, that Jake must come and be the saviour – but you never went far enough below the surface to be safe. You proved yourself truly Stella’s daughter in that way. A bad influence on the other Brethren, a dissenting voice.

  †

  From the day of your arrival, any pretence of politeness between Hannah and me was shattered, except in front of others. Your presence broke the surface of the water like a newly fallen branch we must all flow round. Adam lay in wait of news of you, or tuned in when you were in the truth-pod – the room with the ripped sofa, wired for him to listen in. When Rod phoned, Hannah spoke to him, or I did. He rang more often than we told you, for your own peace of mind. I won his trust in our conversations and he told me all about your troubles.

  ‘You’re too smothering,’ I told you, after Rod had confided that to me. Your face crumpled and something inside me buckled too. Smothering. Is that how I’d loved you as a child? Is it possible to exceed the decent limits of love? Has that been my mistake with Adam; to have loved him no matter what? Has my whole life been a mistake?

  I would have spent more time with you but I wasn’t well; the pesky cramping in my chest sent me away from you from time to time. And I wanted to be with Adam. Always, I was torn. I was sitting beside Adam as he slept, pondering these questions, when Hannah came into the room. She’d taken to walking in, no knock even, the concept of privacy forgotten.

  ‘Shhh,’ I said, ‘he’s sleeping.’

  ‘No,’ Adam said, opening his eyes.

  ‘She’s sabotaging the plan,’ Hannah said.

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Telling her she can go. Telling her not to bring Jacob here.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘you are too simplistic. Have you never heard of reverse psychology?’

  Hannah frowned from Adam to me.

  ‘She’s clever,’ he said, meaning me, I think.

  ‘I tell her she can go – and then she stays. I tell her she needs time away from the baby – then she wants all the more to be with him,’ I said.

  Hannah sat on the other side of the bed. Adam lay between us, his face turning from one to the other, a beat behind the rhythm of our conversation. Who did she think she was, sitting on our bed like that?

  ‘If he comes –’

  ‘When,’ chipped in Hannah.

  ‘What is the plan?’ I pressed on.

  ‘I’ll bless little Jacob,’ Adam said. ‘Our Lamb of God. I’ll baptize him. He will be the Saviour of Soul-Life.’

  ‘You won’t be able to keep him here,’ I said. ‘Not against Dodie’s will.’

  ‘No?’ Hannah said. I caught the tip of her index finger surreptitiously stroking Adam’s arm.

  ‘And anyway,’ I said, ‘how would we get him here? If she goes home to fetch him, she’ll never come back. I have to battle for every moment that she stays.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘But I’ve been talking to Rod again. I told him Dodie might not make it back in time for him to go on his trip and he was furious.’ She smiled and leaned in to Adam, as if to exclude me from the conversation. ‘How about we offer to pay for his flight to bring Jacob here before he goes off?’

  Adam blinked, smiled. ‘Yes, my love,’ he said.

  My love. He didn’t know which of us was which any more. His vision foggy; his mind foggy. My breath was coming fast, that rising pressure in my chest again.

  ‘Are you not well?’ Hannah said. ‘Look at her colour, Adam, she needs to rest.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll rest here.’ And in front of her I slipped off my robe and climbed into bed next to Adam and I knew that wasn’t what she’d meant; I saw the darkening of her face. Adam shifted. He was in pain of course, and so much worse than mine. I held my breath, praying that he wouldn’t tell me to get out in front of her, but he didn’t and I laid my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes until I heard the door click shut.

  ‘Jesus wants a sacrifice,’ Adam said, waking me some time later from my doze. ‘A Festival of the Lamb.’

  I hauled myself up to look at his tired face. He lifted the lids of his eyes, so watery now, as if he was on the edge of weeping all the time. He winced as I shifted.

  ‘You’re not well enough,’ I said gently.

  ‘Jesus has spoken unto me,’ he wheezed.

  I laid my hand across his forehead, like a mother. I stroked his cheek. ‘I really don’t think you’re up to it, my love.’

  ‘One more lamb,’ he said. ‘Ask Isaac to procure a lamb.’

  I dreaded the Festival of the Lamb. I had always thought it a cruel and ludicrous pantomime – those thoughts, suppressed for so long, sprung up toughly now. I never could bear to watch Adam slice the razor edge of the knife through the wool and skin. I could never bear that he could bear to do it.

  ‘Perhaps. But you’re hardly well enough to stand,’ I pointed out.

  ‘The Lord will provide me with the strength,’ he said. The thought of the festival already seemed to have energized him. His breathing changed and he began to fumble at my breasts. ‘Soft,’ he said, ‘so soft.’ He took my hand and pushed it down under the quilt.

  ‘Hey,’ I said.

  ‘Please,’ he said, and rolled his eyes up. We had not made love for such an age I didn’t know if either of us was even capable. But by the time I was lying back down beside him, the impulse had gone. He wept a little and we lay together skin on skin and slept.

  †

  Obadiah rarely came to our room. It had been months since Adam had even pretended to have anything to do with the mechanics of running Soul-Life – and in fact it had always been Obadiah’s operation in the financial sense. He had a genius for making money – or once he had. Whether it was age that was catching up with him or whether it had always been inevitable that the IRS would catch up with us, I don’t know. He said the global economy had gone into meltdown and whether that was truth or excuse, I neither know nor care.

  I’d just left you, Dodie, after one of our conversations, and was hurrying back to Adam, worried by your attitude, wanting to talk to Adam, praying that Hannah wouldn’t be with him, when I met Obadiah in the corridor outsi
de the door to our room.

  He was walking with his characteristic deep stoop – the result of years bent over paperwork and in front of a computer screen.

  ‘Oh hello, Martha.’ He smiled when he saw me.

  ‘I imagine Adam’s asleep,’ I said.

  ‘Can you check?’ Obadiah said. ‘He needs to know –’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t need to know anything.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Listen. He hasn’t got long, Obadiah, please don’t upset him.’

  ‘But Hannah said –’

  ‘Hannah said what?’

  He shrank into himself, all the grey hair and whiskers and long trailing eyebrows, you could hardly see his features any more. I’d known him as a youngish man, or a tall and virile guy at least, and now look. It made me angry to see time and age so cruelly demonstrated.

  ‘Hannah doesn’t understand how ill he is,’ I said. ‘Not even in his right mind half the time. What’s the point of making him think it’s all going to collapse? He’ll just die bitterly.’

  The whiskers stirred as his lips pursed. ‘Sure,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Maybe I’ll just put my head round and say hi.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks. Wait there.’

  I went into the room. Adam was alone and asleep. The Bible lay on his chest, his finger trapped between its pages. I let Obadiah see.

  ‘Later?’ I said. I closed the door on Adam and we stood outside the door, suddenly awkward.

  Obadiah took my hand in his.

  ‘What will you do?’ he asked.

  I looked at him, puzzled, though I knew what he meant.

  ‘Once Adam dies?’ he said.

  Although I am over fifty, I still feel like a child with Obadiah. Older than Adam even, he’s the oldest member of Soul-Life. I looked at the floor. The circumstances had never been so openly acknowledged. The sense that things were spinning out of control, that we were hurtling towards dissolution. It struck me for a horrible instant that maybe Hannah had been right; Adam should have been told the entire state of things, to have had the chance, while still capable of deciding, how the end should come. But it was too late now.