The guards believe their gunfire repelled a mercenary attack on the commune. They say the assailants manipulated the jungle according to their training, but the superior firepower of the guards saved the day. These hostile forces will regroup and launch another, more direct attack on the commune, so preparations need to be made to repulse them. And if this line of defense fails, there is always the ultimate escape route from capture and imprisonment and separation of parents from children and dissolution of the commune. The preacher asks the guards if they accept his assessment of the situation and his remedy for it. They all agree that they want to evade their persecutors and be by their leader’s side in paradise. They will mount an armed defense of the commune as a first response to any hostility, and this should create a diversion and help to facilitate the orderly departure of everyone in the commune from this world to the next. The leader says theirs is a win-win situation. Faith is the only requisite ingredient in a recipe to win the kingdom of heaven.
Over the community loudspeaker, the preacher announces the imminent arrival of a delegation from the U.S.:
—Soon Satan will set foot in our holy refuge.
It galls him to say the name of the land that banished them all. He asks the faithful if they want prying eyes and hostile minds to walk all over the commune that their labor built from nothing, the order that they carved out of the chaos of the jungle, for these intruders to judge them as if they were common criminals. No one wants that, and they all pause in the middle of their chores to shout and gesticulate at the nearest loudspeaker.
At the evening sermon he talks late into the night and orders the commune to rise at dawn to purge their sins and pray. People faint in the congregation. Many need medication to sleep, to stay awake, to eat, to stop eating, to stop biting their nails and pulling their hair, to stop their hair from falling out, to cure inexplicable rashes, for shingles, for mono, for nervous exhaustion, for not knowing which way to turn and not being able to tell their up from their down, their left from their right. They need to sleep but the preacher will not let them. He broadcasts night and day and at irregular intervals. His people’s nerves are frayed, their minds rendered incapable of making the simplest decisions. They ask someone in charge what to wear, what to do, and when to do it. They stand in one place for ages, unsure what to do next or what to think. They walk around and bump into furniture, each other, drop plates of food and glasses with milk and clean clothes that need to be rinsed all over again, and which they’ll wear back to front and inside out.
He marches them around the commune and points out where vipers and tarantulas and scorpions might nest and bite a child, and idle pools where mosquitoes might hatch and spread malaria, and worms that eat between the toes and flesh-eating mites that crawl into the crotch. He reminds them their children belong to God and their lives will be better in God’s hands and not his and not this commune, and no place on this godforsaken earth is good enough for his flock, only the kingdom of heaven, only everlasting life. For their vigilance in this life against the temptations of the flesh, they will garner freedom of the spirit in the next. This life in this commune tests their bodies every day, but the real test is their faith in a spiritual life that lasts forever.
He tries to get them to comprehend forever. Old men and women in the commune stand during the sermons and face the young people nearest, and they swear to those youth that time is an illusion, one day you are young, the next, old, and that their earthly lives will run away from them like quicksilver, will pass through their fingers like the river’s water. That yesterday they are young, less than yesterday, a moment ago, that they blink and open their eyes and, lo, they are old. That they find the days shorter and shorter. That this time they are in, this present, is just a trick, chump change, funny money that is robbed from them in an instant of daylight. The old testify to the young that the afterlife has no truck with conventional hours, days, weeks, months, and years. They believe it is true because there must be a reason for this trial by time of the flesh at the expense of the spirit.
The old take their seats, and the preacher thanks them and takes over:
—Forever exists outside of time.
He asks them to examine the second hand of a clock, and he gets two guards to hold up a large clock borrowed from the schoolhouse. He says that time in God’s mind is so slow that in terms of creation and all of human history, only one second elapses on this clock. Imagine that, he says, one second to get from the beginning of time to where we are at this moment. That is time in God’s hands. There is no way to measure seventy or eighty or ninety years on this scale, those human years are too infinitesimal to count for anything in God’s time.
—Now you have an idea about eternity. That is what waits for each of you because you chose to be here with me today. Eternity is your reward.
Joyce, Trina, and Rose add their praise the Lord to the chorus and a part of them finds the preacher’s reasoning irresistible. Rose applies it to Ryan’s disappearance and return and concealment, all in one blink, and to her own mother, whom she trained herself not to think about to avoid feeling dejected from the day her mother had to leave the commune and was forced to leave her behind as insurance. They leave these meetings in a daze and find that they, too, weep in the moment for no reason and feel numb and walk in a sleep of some kind. Joyce tells Trina again and again to think of the boat and the captain and the river and not to listen too closely to the preacher, since his voice stays in the head and steers independent thinking in unpredictable directions.
The only thing the two listen for is the amen responses required from them, and they mimic these without thinking. Trina thanks her lucky stars that most nights the preacher seems too busy with others to call on her for support during his sermons or demonstrations. But tonight he pulls a scorpion from a box and asks the nearest child, who happens to be Rose, to open her hand and to be very still while he places the insect on her hand. Rose pees her pants as the preacher lowers the insect toward her hand and the preacher castigates Rose for her fear that is deeper than her faith and dismisses her. The preacher calls on another child, who stands, wide-eyed, and faints or pretends to faint even before taking a step toward the stage.
The preacher asks for Trina:
—She’ll show you kids what faith is.
But a young prefect jumps to his feet and says he will do it, he has faith, he believes in Father. And the preacher smiles, hails the young man forward to the stage, and lowers the scorpion onto his hand, which shakes abysmally until the scorpion begins to slide off his arm and he screams and flicks it away and the scorpion lands somewhere between the fourth and fifth rows, which causes a stampede from the area, and the guards restore order with their sticks.
The scorpion cannot be found and the two rows remain clear, no one wants to go near the area until the guards agree to sit in the chairs themselves to reassure the congregation. The rows fill up again and people keep looking around their feet and twitching their legs just in case. Pat produces another box and the preacher pulls a tarantula from it and turns his hand over as the spider crawls along his hand. He invites two other assistants, Nora and Dee, to do the same, but they recoil and he takes their hands and keeps hold as he repeats the same motion of turning the hand over to keep the spider on it. He calls Trina again. Another young prefect jumps to her feet and begs to prove her faith. The preacher agrees and she bounds onto the stage and perhaps it is her proximity to the tarantula that causes the change in her from sprightly volunteer to someone rigid who wishes she could change her mind. She holds out her hand and shakes so much that the preacher has to steady it. He tells her to keep still so he can place the spider on her, and recommends that she think of a calm place, since a tarantula easily senses fear and lack of faith and will bite her.
He decides to place the spider on her shoulder and reminds this young prefect to keep her head still and trust him. She nods and offers her hand again by holding the hand with the other to keep it from shaking
, but the preacher says his choice of her shoulder is better than a shaky hand and all she needs to do is obey him. He holds the tarantula in a pincer grip between his thumb and index finger and lowers it onto her left shoulder. For a few seconds she closes her eyes and holds her breath and sways a little and the spider moves from her left shoulder toward her face with these slow legs picking up and touching down lightly like fingertips on piano keys and perhaps the prefect feels something from the movement through her dress that makes her forget that the material sits between her skin and the tarantula, maybe the hairy feet feel just as if the tarantula crawls on her skin. She strains her neck upward and toward her right shoulder and into tense cords to keep the creature in view of her wide disbelieving eyes and to increase the distance between its prying, hairy legs and her face. As she leans, she tries her best to remain still and model obedience to the reverend. She sees the tarantula grow in her sight as the only thing present in the congregation, and from its becoming giant in size with its many legs on her skin, she thinks that somehow it succeeds in dividing itself into two and then four spiders and at any moment they will crawl all over her body.
She springs from her position of frozen consent and cooperation and beats her neck and shoulders with her hands and brushes hard and rapidly to clear away as many spiders as the feel of those legs on her skin. She bolts off the stage and the guards try to hold her but she pokes them in their faces with her wild arms and slips from their grasp and they follow her out of the tent and into the dark as she screams and hops and waves her arms around to fend off many nightmare tarantulas. The real arachnid sheepishly crawls along the stage where she knocked it off her, and the preacher retrieves it and places it back in the box.
The guards chase the girl but not the way an adult pursues someone in an emergency; theirs is a casual pursuit, more a case of follow that girl’s scream and her noisy progress from the tent toward the gorilla’s cage. A few lights dot the commune and make it possible to see the prefect’s shadow sprint into the circumference of a lit area and then out of it and back into the dark. They wonder where she thinks she is going at this late hour. Rather than heading for the children’s dormitories, she sprints toward the field to the right of the gorilla’s cage. A pothole might break her ankle or a viper bite her foot. Prefect, young lady, hello, where are you, the guards call into the darkness. They run faster now because the field is no place for a child at night and she needs to be rescued from herself.
Adam runs at the bars of his cage and throws his body against them. He jumps on the spot and shakes the cage and howls. The guards beat the bars of the cage with their sticks to silence Adam. He retreats out of sight. The guards discuss the girl’s disappearance:
—She knows what’s in that field.
—Headed straight for it.
And the words barely leave their mouths before they say blouse and skirts and pick up the pace, followed by the rest of the group. They hear the girl’s scream cut short with an echo, not in the air, as before, but from under their feet, up from the ground, and they collide with the well and shine their torches into it, but the well is so deep it swallows the rays.
The guards fetch more lights to shine into the well. One or two still call: Prefect, young lady, hello, and point their torches at the forest, hoping she might emerge from it. A guard returns to the tent and whispers something to Nora. She orders the guard to pull himself together, but she has to do the same. Nora, Dee, and Pat confer and decide to allow the reverend to finish his preaching before they inform him. But he turns from the middle of his tirade against the enemies of the commune to ask where the girl is and why a bunch of grown men cannot catch a teenager and must he do everything himself. He sees the glum expressions of his assistants and pauses and asks his congregation to excuse him for a moment. He walks to Nora, Dee, and Pat and asks them to tell him what all the chaos is about if they care one iota about him. They tell him that the prefect who ran from the tent did a stupid thing.
—What stupid thing would that be?
The nurse says the young woman ran and jumped into the well. The preacher spins away from his assistant and slaps his forehead with his open hand. He barks into the microphone:
—No, no, no, no, no. Do not go before me, wait for me. I want you all to repeat. Do not go before me, wait for me. Repeat.
—Do not go before me, wait for me.
He falls quiet. He covers his face, and his shoulders shake as he sobs. He wipes his face with a handkerchief fished from his back pocket, tucks the kerchief back in place, straightens and breathes and exhales into the microphone.
—Forgive me. Even I’m overcome sometimes. People, do not fear this world or anything in it. Believe me, you have the kingdom of heaven, and this world’s nothing to you. Don’t fear a scorpion or spider or snake. These things can’t harm your everlasting spirit. Believe me. The young woman did not understand. Parents, make your children understand, please. The child ran from here in her fear and confusion. She ran from me and the safety that we all provide to each other in our unity. She ran from us and into the night. They tell me she jumped into the well.
Shouts ring out, no, no, and screams from the young woman’s parents, her immediate circle of friends, and pockets of the audience. The prefect’s parents clutch each other and crumple in their seats and beg the preacher to say it is not so, that their little girl is all right. But he shakes his head and says he wishes it were otherwise.
—Is this flesh so precious to you that it overrides your faith in the kingdom of heaven? Is this body so much in need of your protection that you would forgo everlasting life? Answer me, people.
—No, Father.
—Our enemies want us in disarray. They want us to commit individual acts of fear and panic and fall apart as a community, but we’re stronger than that. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? Think of where each of you was before you were saved and how far each of you has come and where you are now, think of that journey of your spirit from ruin and loss and wandering to sure salvation. Do not lose heart at this late stage. Do not mistake the actions of a confused child for defeat. Our spirits, people, cannot be conquered in this world, only our bodies die. Parents, look at me. There is nothing I will not do for you. Look at me.
The parents obey and the preacher takes a knife from his pocket, flicks open the blade, and before Dee, Pat, and Nora or anyone near him can react, he slides the blade across his wrist and holds his arm out for all to see the red slice weep. The prefect’s parents look at the preacher’s face and at his open wrist without releasing their grip of each other. Their faces are wet, their mouths open, and their eyes wide. The preacher pulls out his handkerchief and steps off the stage and Nora grabs the handkerchief and his arm and straps it tightly. He walks to the parents and they fall at his feet and he kisses them.
—You’ve every right to grieve for her and miss her, but don’t feel sorry for her or for yourselves. She’s ahead of you in paradise, and that’s where we’re all heading. Not here in this temporary flesh but with her in eternity. Do you believe?
—Yes, Father.
—Don’t grieve. Let’s lift our voices and sing. We’ll meet your daughter on the other side.
—Yes, Father.
The choir and band strike up the hymn “In the Sweet By-and-By.” The parents hug each other and cry.
As the band, choir, and congregation rage with hallelujahs and praise the Lords and sing at the top of their lungs and throw their arms in the air and some people topple onto the floor and gyrate in paroxysms of bodily transportation, the preacher moves to one corner with his assistants and asks them to confirm that the girl—the stupid little devil of a girl, is how he puts it—really jumped down the well, because he cannot trust those fools who call themselves his bodyguards after their unlikely shaking-bush story. The doctor examines the preacher’s wrist and tells him that although there is no damage to the tendon, he needs stitches, but the preacher says that will have to wait, so the doctor tightens a ban
dage around the cut. He walks back to the center of the stage with his microphone.
—Trina, Trina, Trina, Trina, Trina. Where are you, my child? Come up here.
Joyce holds on to Trina, who looks at her mother and touches her mother’s arms for Joyce to release her grip. Joyce prays inwardly. God, spare my child.
Trina raises her hand and shouts from the middle of the congregation:
—I’m here, Father.
People steady her and pat her all over as she steps across many legs and picks her way out of her row to continuous applause from the congregation. Trina reaches the stage, transported by these hands touching her and pushing her forward. The preacher leans over and offers his bandaged hand and Trina kisses it and smells his blood and thinks of how blood smells as though the body manufactures vegetation of its own, green leaves, brown bark, tree sap, and she steps up onto the stage. The preacher kisses her on her head.
—Now, children, look at a real demonstration of faith and trust. Trina knows what I mean by the body as a temporary house for the eternal spirit. Don’t you, Trina?
—Yes, Father.
—You know that if I ask you to do something, I make the request as your loving Father who means you no harm and who intends to give his life for your safety, don’t you?
—Yes, Father.
—You hear that, people. Can each of you say that? Without reservation. That you know I mean you no harm; that everything I do is for your well-being?
An array of replies flits around the congregation:
—Yes, Father. We do. We love you. We trust you.
The preacher waits for his followers to quiet and they take their time for each one wants to voice love and loyalty beyond measure, since everyone believes someone watches. Even the stragglers who shout praise feel compelled to stop and allow the preacher to resume his lesson with Trina and discover if the child can produce another miracle.
Children of Paradise: A Novel Page 29