by Rebecca Wait
At her graduation, her grandmother had wept, which Judith counted a stranger sight than all the wonders she’d seen in the Ark put together. Not crying like a normal person, obviously. Just a little quiet leaking around the eyes.
‘You’ve done so well,’ her gran had said, standing outside the hall clutching a glass of cheap prosecco and a soggy smoked salmon sandwich; her gran, who never drank, who had never once said ‘I love you.’ ‘You’ve come through it all. I knew you would.’
And Judith had gone on smiling stiffly as she stood in her graduation gown, already damp from the rain, while her gran laboriously went about the task of immortalizing the moment on her ancient camera; and she had thought, ‘What the hell do I do now?’
Difficult to make her mother see how her options had narrowed rather than expanded. Judith felt the bitterness returning.
She said, ‘I got doorstepped by a journalist after seeing you last time.’
Stephanie’s head came up quickly, but she didn’t speak.
‘She wanted to know about you,’ Judith said. ‘How you’re getting on.’
‘I’m fine,’ her mother said weakly, as though being interviewed by the journalist there and then. Then, seeming to rally, she said, ‘You shouldn’t talk to them.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘They twist everything.’
As far as Judith could see, it didn’t need much twisting. She looked down at her fingernails, bitten to stubs, and didn’t speak.
‘We watched 500 Days of Summer last week,’ her mother offered.
‘Oh.’
‘I didn’t like the ending much.’
‘You never like the endings.’
Her mother leaned forward. ‘Do you remember when I took you to see The Parent Trap at the cinema when you were little?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You decided you wanted a twin, so you invented one. You kept it up for weeks. I had to alternate between calling you Judith and calling you Suzie, and when you were Suzie you’d put on that strange American accent.’
Reluctantly, Judith smiled. ‘I remember.’
‘You were only interested in the twin part, though. You never tried to get me and your dad back together.’
‘I barely knew him.’
‘No,’ Stephanie said. ‘But you know, we were just kids. He might be different now.’
‘Not interested,’ Judith said. A pause, then she added, almost too softly for her mother to hear, ‘I was happy just with you.’
Stephanie did hear. Judith knew, because she saw her mother’s face close.
Afterwards, Judith leaned against the wall outside the prison gates and cried. It hadn’t been a particularly awful visit, no worse than any of the others. But she knew she was reaching a tipping point.
It made no sense, she thought, how the idea of family still exerted such a pull. Surely her time in the Ark had taught her what nonsense that was, how foolish to expect anything more from your mother than you would from a stranger in the street, as though shared genes and a bit of shared history actually translated into things like loyalty and trust and love. Blood counted for nothing. They owed each other nothing. Judith was stupid to be disappointed by Stephanie back then, just as she was stupid to keep visiting her now.
Some of the other visitors were trailing out now, heading for the shuttle bus. Judith wiped her face on her sleeve and went over to join them.
IV
Falling
1
Two days had passed since the session before Stephanie was able to get Judith on her own.
‘I wanted to do what was best for you,’ she said when she’d finally tracked her daughter down outside the barn. ‘They were just trying to help you. Do you understand that?’ She was almost in tears, and knew she must get herself under control, especially as Judith was so calm. Stephanie had expected rage and accusations, but this was worse.
Judith simply shrugged, as if the whole subject bored her.
‘He promised me he wouldn’t hurt you,’ Stephanie said. ‘He promised. And he didn’t, did he? I told him he mustn’t.’
‘Oh,’ Judith said. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘Judith, please.’
But her daughter turned away from her. ‘I have to go and find Moses,’ she said.
‘Judith, listen,’ Stephanie said, catching her arm. ‘This is good for us. This is a better life. And there may be difficulties along the way, but you have to trust me – this is all for the best.’
‘I have to find Moses,’ Judith said again. And she turned and walked away.
Stephanie watched her go. ‘Being a good mother requires great courage,’ Nathaniel had said to her. ‘There may be times when you have to let your child pass through fire so they can be purified, however painful it feels. You’re a courageous woman, and a wonderful mother.’
Stephanie thought again of the scene in the barn, Judith sitting on the chair in the middle, looking far younger than usual, not understanding what was happening, not understanding it was all done to save her.
But none of us knew what was best for us when we were young. And if Stephanie had suffered an agony alongside Judith, if she felt a pain in her stomach and then an ache in that secret low part that must be her womb – well, it was her own weakness, and she must overcome it.
Nathaniel came to her room that night after the evening prayer meeting.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘I have something for you.’
From behind his back, he produced a bottle of red wine.
‘Probably best not to mention it to the others,’ he said. ‘But you’ve had a tough few days, and I don’t see the harm in this as a one-off treat. What do you think? Can we be trusted?’
His excitement was catching; she felt her lips curving up in response to his. It was just like one of their early dates: that heady, precipice thrill, that sense that things were moving beyond her control, but so smoothly, so beautifully.
He fetched her water glass from the bedside table.
‘Finish it up,’ he said, and although it was left over from the night before and she could see specks of dust on the surface, she drank it down quickly.
Then he unscrewed the bottle cap and poured wine into the glass. He held it to her mouth, pushing her hands away when she tried to take the glass from him.
‘Drink.’
She sipped, and smiled at him when he moved the glass away. He drank some too, his eyes staying on her face.
‘Do you know how happy you’ve made me over the past few months?’ he said, and she saw him clearly again for a moment, this earlier Nathaniel who was sweet and a little unsure of himself.
‘You’ve made me so happy too,’ she said. But she was worn out tonight and it was harder to read him properly; the different Nathaniels were blurring together too quickly, so she didn’t know what to give him in return, how to avoid disappointing him.
They finished the bottle between them, sitting side by side on the mattress, his hand straying sometimes to her hair, then drifting down her back. Gradually, she began to relax. She remembered how much she’d loved being drunk once, those ragged nights in her early twenties, Judith left with her mother, the third vodka tonic softening and disjointing everything; the men she’d fallen in love with – just for an hour or two; how fearless and free she felt when she went home with them. When the moment swelled and spread and was made only of itself, not at all of before and after.
Then Nathaniel was pressing against her, laying her back on the mattress.
I could never love anybody more, she thought.
It was only when he was already pushing his way into her that she realized he hadn’t paused to put on a condom. Had he simply forgotten? She wrestled with the matter for a few moments.
‘Relax,’ he said. ‘You’re tensing up.’
‘Nathaniel,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not – we don’t have any protection.’
He seemed not to know what she meant, continuing as if she hadn’t spoken. She put her
hands on his shoulders to slow him and tried to look in his face.
‘Nathaniel, I don’t think – I don’t think you put one on. A condom.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘But I could get pregnant.’
‘That’s the idea.’
Dismay. ‘But – I’m not ready for that. We haven’t talked about it or – anything. I—’
‘Be quiet,’ he said sharply and she fell silent, wondering what she could say next, what wouldn’t make him angry.
After a few moments, she said, as calmly as she could, ‘Nathaniel, could we just stop for a moment? I’m sorry, I just—’
‘Be quiet,’ he said again. ‘You’re putting me off.’
His movements grew suddenly fast and brutal, and the shock and pain of it prevented her from speaking any more.
And then it was over. Nathaniel shuddered and collapsed on top of her. She could feel the film of sweat on his chest and neck making her own skin damp, and then a wetness between her legs, a creeping stickiness. She was finding it difficult to understand what had just happened. She wondered if perhaps a whole conversation had taken place that she’d missed entirely.
There was a long silence, then Nathaniel murmured, ‘You made it difficult for me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was – surprised.’
‘I told you to be quiet.’
‘But I don’t want another baby, Nathaniel. We haven’t talked about it.’ Her voice came out shrill. ‘You have to talk about these things first!’
He pulled away from her and sat up abruptly. Then, without warning, he turned back to her and slapped her across the face.
The blow was not hard, but it was so unexpected she bit her tongue, and whimpered at the pain.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘That can’t have hurt. It hurts me far more to have to do that to you. Why are you being like this?’
‘Like what?’ she said, but her voice was a whisper and she wasn’t sure if he’d heard. She put her hand to her face where he’d hit her.
‘You know better than this,’ he said. ‘Stop challenging me. I thought you’d made so much progress but now look at you. Rebelling against everything.’
‘I’m not rebelling,’ she said, her tongue feeling swollen in her mouth. ‘I didn’t know we’d decided this, that’s all. I didn’t know.’ Pitifully, she began to cry.
Nathaniel seemed to soften a little. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You must have known. What do you think a woman’s purpose is?’
She looked up at him, stricken.
He said, ‘I allowed you a period of grace, Sarah, a period of adjustment. It’s over now. You need to do your duty as a woman.’
She saw how stupid she’d been. All the women here had borne children in the Ark, all except Esther who, as she knew so well, could not. The prophet had only one child so far, the sour-faced Ezra who seemed to grow more like his mother every day – and there seemed no question of Nathaniel paying Ruth any night-time visits. Was it surprising that he wanted another child? And what kind of woman was she, to baulk at bearing it for him? Every one of her instincts was wicked. She deserved the punishment he had given her. Perhaps she deserved worse.
‘You’re afraid,’ Nathaniel said. ‘I can see that.’
He always knew her thoughts. He could look into people’s eyes and see the ebb and flow of their soul.
She said, ‘If I am, it’s only because I’m weak.’
‘You still have some of the world in you. The world’s selfishness. The world’s fear.’
She bowed her head.
He said, ‘When you bear this child, you will be made clean.’
2
Thomas had a bottle of whisky in the desk drawer of his office at the back of the supermarket. The bottle was unopened, but he had pictured himself, many times, unscrewing the cap and pouring a slug into a glass, taking a sip. He had chewing gum in the drawer too, to mask the smell. Sooner or later, he would take a drink. It would, he supposed, be an experiment of sorts.
The session, rather than cleansing him of sin, seemed to have shaken something loose. His thoughts were roaming at will and latching onto anything that was forbidden. He couldn’t stop thinking about his colleagues’ lives, for instance. He’d felt no interest before, but now he pictured his assistant manager Jas going home to her husband in the evenings, some kind of small house where they lived alone, eating together at the kitchen table, going upstairs to bed. The new kid, Kieran, meeting his friends after work, their easy laughter, their silliness.
Thomas knew they must wonder about his own life, too, though they had long ago given up trying to persuade him out to socialize. He had heard Jas outside the storeroom once, whispering to one of the others about his ‘sick wife’. He was glad of the misunderstanding, even whilst it unsettled him.
What if it was just Esther he was going home to? No one else claiming her, no one coming between them?
Satan, I refuse you, he thought, but the words didn’t have the effect they should, were irritating rather than soothing.
And where was Jesus these days, anyway? God was everywhere, relentless and disapproving, but when Thomas looked for Jesus, he found no trace. He had known the Gospels virtually by heart once, and parts returned to him now, the long-submerged words rising gently to the surface.
Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way? Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
But at some point, it seemed, Nathaniel had discovered Jesus was superfluous. They almost never read the New Testament now, only the Old, and that was read to them, not by them. How long was it since they’d given up their Bibles? Thomas couldn’t remember, which must mean it had been a long time. He’d had his almost from birth; it was a christening gift from his godfather, a pocket King James, bound in an unusual rich blue leather. But he’d handed it over gladly to Nathaniel when the time came. The prophet said, The devil sits between you and the Word of God. Your sinful eyes colour the meaning.
‘Do you think it’s strange,’ he said to Esther as they lay together that night, ‘that Sarah doesn’t know anything about the Bible?’
‘She wasn’t religious before she was saved,’ Esther said. ‘But she was still saved.’
‘I know. But it’s so different to how we came to it.’ He thought back to those late nights in London, all of them sitting round Nathaniel’s cramped bedsit as Nathaniel drew their attention to passage after passage of the Bible, extemporized on the true meaning of the words. Thomas was amazed to discover how much he himself had missed, despite his diligent attendance at Bible study sessions throughout school and university. No one knew the scriptures better than Nathaniel, and particularly the Gospels; no one could quote them more promptly or comprehensively. Thomas had been stunned at his good fortune in finding such a teacher.
But when did merciful, loving Jesus get pushed out of the picture? Now there was only the wrath of God and the tricks of Satan.
Beside him, Esther was silent.
‘Do you ever imagine a different life?’ he said.
‘Thomas! Of course not.’
‘Do you ever wonder if there’s more than one way to be saved, more than one way to serve God?’
‘No. We’ve been shown the way,’ Esther said. ‘The prophet showed us.’ She raised her head from his chest so she could look at him properly. ‘Thomas, what’s got into you?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. Just tired.’
He asked himself if she would report him; already knew she would not. She would chastise herself for being weak and sinful, but she would protect him from another session. He tightened his arms around her. He wanted to say, Sometimes when we’re alone I imagine we’re on an island, or in a house surrounded by fields, and nobody can reach us. Sometimes I imagine there are only the two of us left in the world.
Once, he would have approached Nathaniel
for help. He couldn’t now. He had no idea what he was asking for, no idea if he was fighting towards the truth or away from it. It seemed impossible to untangle the mess in his head, to sift what made sense from what didn’t. His mind didn’t work the way it used to.
Satan, I refuse you.
And he saw it again. Nathaniel beside him in the rain outside the town hall, Nathaniel giving him that wolfish grin, saying, ‘Let’s go back to my flat so we can talk more.’
And Nathaniel grasping his hand across the table – Thomas taken aback, but not pulling away – saying, ‘God sent you to me.’
Thomas too surprised to speak.
Nathaniel saying, ‘You dreamed of heaven last night.’
Thomas had. And told no one.
‘God spoke to you. But you’re still not sure of the message.’
Thomas still saying nothing, his hand still being held. But the intensity of Nathaniel’s gaze – he’d never seen anything like it. Those clear green eyes. They fixed you in one place, held you still whilst he examined every inch of your soul. It felt like a violation – and yet you welcomed it, wanted it. You found yourself bereft when he finally looked away.
‘You’ve been praying for years, asking God to show you what He needs from you,’ Nathaniel said.
Now Thomas was nodding, because yes, he had. For years. They all said, all of them in the Youth Church, that if you prayed for it then God would tell you. But He’d never told Thomas. Told the others, apparently, but passed over Thomas.
‘Thomas,’ Nathaniel said. ‘He’s telling you now. This is the beginning.’
And, later in the evening, ‘Do you feel it? If you don’t feel it, then there’s no point carrying on. If you don’t feel it now, you never will. Can you feel the Spirit moving within you?’