Just as we got to the middle of the room the song changed to a slow power ballad. Everyone started to slow dance. I was blushing again – I could feel the heat on my cheeks. My mind was blank and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so when he held out his arms I just put my head on his chest and drank in his scent.
After the dance he walked me to my room like a proper gentleman. There was no moment of embarrassment or teenage fumbling. Instead it was as if we had an unspoken bond – something that didn’t need words to be communicated. As he walked back down the hall I just waved goodnight, which he returned with a flash of his gorgeous smile.
This was more special to me than anything. Sex was banned for the under-16s, but lots of campers were managing to do it. If we’d really wanted to we could have snuck away and had some sneaky sex in his tent. But for Caleb to walk me to my room and not so much as kiss me made the evening feel like there was something magical going on.
It was a feeling that stayed with me when I woke the next day. A thick mist had carpeted the pine forest valleys overnight, so that only the mountain top poked through. It was a wonderful sight and I felt like God had planned it as my own special surprise – a sort of beautiful morning to a beautiful night.
‘So? Spill.’
It was my new friend Jeanette – she was blonde, beautiful and an insatiable gossip. We’d made friends the first day. I was over the moon that she liked me because she was so pretty and the envy of every other girl at camp. She came from an aristocratic French family and exuded a sort of natural grace with the delicate features of a porcelain doll, a little bit like I imagined my mother had looked at the same age. But she was also very timid and shy, which is probably why she felt at ease with me.
‘Oh, gossip. What’s going on?’
Another new friend, Sienna, trotted towards us, pulling back her dark hair. She and I had become very close over the last few days, but in this instance I wasn’t so pleased to see her – she was Caleb’s sister.
‘Somebody was dancing with your brother Caleb last night,’ blurted Jeanette.
‘Oh, that’s old news. I thought you had something juicy.’
I was so relieved Sienna wasn’t being strange about it.
‘In fact,’ Sienna went on, ‘I spoke to the man himself just before, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.’
‘Ooohhhhhhh …’
I knew where Jeanette was going and cut her off.
‘You can calm down. Nothing happened.’
This just fuelled Jeanette’s curiosity.
‘Really? I thought you liked him.’
‘I do. I really do. Sorry, Sienna.’ I touched her arm in one of those ‘I know it’s a bit gross talking about your brother like this’ ways. ‘I do like him. But nothing happened, I promise. He walked me to my room and we said goodnight. It wasn’t weird. It was just … nice.’
‘Urgh. The “N” word.’ Jeanette really couldn’t help herself at moments like this. ‘He must really like yooouuuu,’ she said, sending her voice into a high pitch that climbed with her knowing eyebrows.
When the final day of camp came round everybody was a bit demob happy. We only had one lecture – a kind of round-up of the week’s lessons on fighting the lures of Satan.
Afterwards I was sitting on the grass with the girls when Caleb sauntered over.
‘Hi, Natacha.’
Jeanette pulled an ‘Oooohhhhh’ face silently behind his back.
‘Hi, Caleb. You want to take a walk?’ I surprised myself with my boldness, but I was desperate to escape Jeanette’s antics.
‘Sure.’
We went down through the woods to the lake. I didn’t really know what for, but I was just happy to be alone with him before we had to go our separate ways.
He took my hand in his as we walked along the shore.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ I said, taking in the stunning view one last time.
‘I know what else is beautiful.’
I turned my head back to Caleb, catching his soft lips with mine. My head spun with the sheer joy of it and for a moment I thought I might topple into the lake. It made me cling to him even tighter. I could have stayed there for ever, except some other kids came crunching along the shoreline.
We pulled our heads apart with a little smile.
‘I guess this is goodbye, Natacha. For now.’
On the drive home I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. I ran my finger over my lips where his had touched mine, and hid a little smile.
I was still smiling when I walked into our kitchen. My father was sitting at the dining table poring over documents.
‘Hi, Daddy.’ I ran over to him and kissed him on the cheek. ‘What you doing?’
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, slouching in the chair.
‘It’s my mother’s last will and testament. She died some years ago. I never knew. My sister just told me.’
‘What?’ I had never met the woman, yet somehow I instantly felt her loss. For the first time ever I thought about our other relatives. Who were they? Did they know we existed? Did they believe in Jesus like us? I had no idea what they looked like, where they lived or what kind of jobs they did. They were my blood relatives but I knew nothing about them. That realisation saddened me.
Then over dinner he made a shock announcement – we were going to pioneer a new country where The Family wasn’t known. The place we were going was called Réunion.
I didn’t really know what to think. My mother looked perfectly happy about it. She patted her belly where her ninth baby was growing inside. ‘And you would like to be born into an exciting new mission, wouldn’t you, little one?’
Matt, Marc, Vincent and I looked at each other a little bit stunned. Since moving to France my parents had been pretty much cast adrift by The Family, especially financially. If they’d wanted we could have easily left for good. The last thing we expected was for them to drag us half way round the world to be missionaries again.
Only Vincent could manage the obvious question.
‘Where’s Réunion, Daddy?’
‘It’s a little island near Madagascar. It’s a colony so they speak French, and we can get welfare there so we won’t starve either. They don’t know God and there are no Family members, so we will be true pioneers for the Lord. Sounds great, doesn’t it?’
I had very mixed feelings as we boarded the plane at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Arriving here two and a half years ago I had been a terrified child, expecting to be murdered the moment we landed. France had been unexpectedly kind, allowing us a glimpse of normality – school and a normal family life, two things I wasn’t ready to leave behind.
But as the plane descended over Réunion I felt like I was in a dream. Its rugged volcanic peaks and unspoilt coastline were matched by the inhabitants, such as the witch doctor we nearly ran over in our car as he prepared an offering of freshly slaughtered chicken, rum and fruit in the middle of the road. I’ll never forget leaving the airport and seeing a road sign warning of waterfalls ahead. We all laughed at the silliness of it, but then as we turned the next bend, there it was – a waterfall right in the middle of the road.
Friendly locals warned us from the start not to be fooled into a false sense of security by the undeniable beauty of the island. We were told to watch out for gangs of desperately poor teenagers roaming the streets, drinking and looking for opportunities to enrich themselves at someone else’s expense. When my dad heard this he immediately slapped a ban on my going anywhere without his or a brother’s supervision. The black magic, or gris gris, that Réunion’s cultural life ran on was spoken of in hushed tones in our house.
Our new home was a small concrete house surrounded by sugar-cane fields from where my father would conduct his missionary work, heading out daily to surrounding villages to spread the message. I was relieved that we were the first ones there and didn’t have to move into an established commune, as I’d had my fill of bullying children and cruel su
rrogate parents. My father home schooled me, something he did with a great deal of impatience. When not taking my lessons, most of my time was dedicated to helping run the house or look after my younger siblings. It was very lonely for a 14-year-old girl.
I started to get sleepless nights again, often waking up after a bad dream to find my sheets soaked in sweat. I constantly felt anxious and sad, unable to work out exactly why. It was as if I was walking around with a great big heavy rock on my head.
Marc and I had become much closer since hanging out at youth camp. I felt that of all my brothers he was the one who understood me best because we were similar types. He could tell I was going stir crazy with the sense of confinement so he persuaded my father to let him chaperone me to the beach, a short bus ride away. We spent the afternoon confiding in each other about how sad we were. Marc told me he wasn’t even sure he believed in any of our teachings any more. He’d spoken to some other boys at camp who’d had similar doubts. He was seriously thinking about leaving the group, but he had no idea how.
Chapter 14
A New Wine
We were all were gathered in our living room ready for Word Time. I loved the fact that these days we got to do it as a family, which made it all seem so much more intimate and fun. Sometimes we chanted, other times we meditated in silence, waiting for our individual prophecies from Jesus. My faith was extremely strong and I took my prayers seriously.
‘I want to share something with you. Mama Maria has sent us a new revelation,’ my father said, shuffling a thick sheaf of papers. Revelations from Maria were coming in fast these days as she attempted to assert her leadership with a new set of guidance and rules, something she referred to as ‘the new wine’.
He started to read: ‘Come in unto me – let us be one! Let us love! Let us lie in each other’s arms. Kiss me, caress me, fuck me and love me, fill me to the full! Like you say, “Hold me!” Like you say, “I love you! I want you! I desire you! Come lie with me! Come fill me.”’
I cringed with embarrassment. The last thing any 15-year-old girl wants is her father saying the word ‘fuck’.
I got the sense he wasn’t any more comfortable than I was, but he carried on; ‘So the Lord’s prophecy is clear. Listen to this.’ He read more from the letter, explaining these were Jesus’s direct words given to Maria.
‘Do not be ashamed or afraid to speak these precious words of love to Me, for they are as special incense, special prayers that come up before Me, that fill My halls with a special perfume, a perfume of love and of lovemaking! It excites Me! It thrills Me! It makes Me want to give to you, and give and give some more, and again and again! As the thrust of a man upon a woman in lovemaking, so I want to give and give and fill you with My seeds! For when I smell this perfume in the halls of Heaven, I look upon you with great love and with great care and with great excitement, and I want to fill you to overflowing like none other can fill you! These things of the flesh are only a mere speck of the love that I have for you! But I give you the touches and the words and the feelings of the flesh and the sensations and the orgasms, the kiss upon kiss, the breast to breast, the being held, so that you will understand how I am with you.
‘So love Me and be not ashamed! Do not be afraid to say that you want Me. Do not be afraid to say that you want Me to fuck you and to love you and to kiss you, to hold you. For it is in these words that you convey the feeling of your heart. Yes, I want praise and adoration, I want words of thanksgiving, but they that love Me most understand that I also want words of caresses and words of wooing and words of endearment.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. When Jesus spoke to me it was usually to show me the way through a problem. He never said anything like this. I knew I loved Jesus; I loved him with all my heart and soul. But making out like I wanted to have sex with him? It sounded ridiculous.
I glanced over at my brothers and sister. Marc’s ears were glowing red, a sure sign he was embarrassed too. Matt was throwing my father one of his murderous expressions. Vincent was trying not to giggle.
My mother, however, was on her knees in prayer, her face down. Occasionally her head bobbed up and down in agreement. ‘Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus.’
I begged Jesus not to let her break into any dirty talk. That was more than I could have coped with. Dad droned on in a similar fashion for another hour. Thankfully he didn’t make us discuss it at the end. I don’t think he could have coped with that either. Alone upstairs later, Marc and I sat on my bed talking in horrified whispers.
‘Would you really do that? Could you?’
‘No way,’ he replied. ‘I’m a guy. Sorry, but I just don’t get how I am supposed to pretend to be a woman. I couldn’t do that if I tried.’
The letter from Maria explained that when men and boys talked dirty to Jesus they should do so as a woman and that they should consider themselves his bride. This was because Grandpa had hated gays. Being a homosexual was something that got a person excommunicated. Jesus was most definitely not gay so the only way a man could love Jesus sexually was by becoming a ‘woman in a spiritual sense’.
To Marc it was beyond offensive. ‘I mean, come on. How the hell am I meant to do that? It’s kind of perverse, don’t you think? I don’t even know what it means. Even if I did want to suck Jesus’s seed, which I do not by the way …’ At that I collapsed in giggles.
He shot me a look of admonishment. ‘I repeat … I said I do not. But even if they were standing over me making me do it, I have no idea what a woman even does when she masturbates. I mean, I know what she does, but what does she think? Oh man, this is messing my head up.’
At dinner that night I found it hard to even look at my father. Were he and Mom going to do this later that night?
The thought grossed me out, so I took it from my mind. I don’t think I’d ever really considered my parents’ sex life before. Of course sex was an everyday thing for me. I’d seen so much of it happen growing up, but they were my parents. I think every kid in the world gets freaked out thinking about their own parents doing it. So thinking about them doing it with Jesus … was just really, really weird.
My mother was busy talking about Mama Maria, extolling her virtues as leader. ‘I did wonder at first if she’d be able to cope with it. And I did think the charter of responsibilities and rights might have been a step too far. You know, I think she and King David lived in their ivory tower for so long I feared they were losing touch. But she seems to be leading well. She’s a good manager.’
The ‘charter’ my mother referred to had been announced in February 1995, not long before we left Indonesia. It was a key part of the ‘new wine’, setting out a code of rules for all members of The Family which stated that the secondary responsibility of a Family member was to believe that Father David and Mama Maria were God’s true and only End Time prophets. My parents had been unusually reticent about it, openly questioning to each other whether this was a sign the power had gone to her head.
Dad certainly seemed less sure as he discussed what we’d read today. ‘So this “new wine”. It certainly shines a light on bridal theology. I’m not sure that’s something I understood before. It’s challenging, but if I am getting the guidance in the right way she is saying that He truly becomes us, becomes our flesh.’
It would turn out a great many other second-generation members, especially the boys, shared my and Marc’s revulsion. Many of them were already struggling with the discipline, the poverty and the lack of freedom. This new doctrine sent a shockwave through the group, prompting a number of second-generation children to leave.
In a bid to stem the tide of growing unease, specific guidance was then issued for teens. ‘We have prayerfully gone over the material to make sure that it is suitable for your needs … Also, we don’t want to be guilty of giving you junior teens reading material that would be offensive or not legally permissible for people your age from the System’s point of view. We want to give you as much Word as we can, without going too far or
causing any legal problems for The Family. We need to try to stay within the law.’
As it goes on it clearly reveals how she feared the doctrine might be perceived in the outside world: ‘By worldly standards, it is not very proper for a Christian to say “dong” and “cunt”, as those words are considered dirty slang words, but the Lord instructs us that if He chooses to use them, then they are clean, and we shouldn’t be offended or disgusted or turned off by them. However, just as you don’t make “fuck” a part of your normal everyday vocabulary, so you shouldn’t with these words either, especially not to outsiders!’
And, as always, there was the subtle reminder that none of this was being ‘forced’ on us, it was our ‘choice’: ‘Unless the Lord speaks to your heart personally and lays on your heart the burden to do it, you don’t have to feel as if you must masturbate. All of this is a very private matter, something between you and the Lord. If you want to love Jesus while masturbating, that’s up to you.’
But Mama Maria saw any negative questioning as a direct threat to her new leadership and took further steps to control the damage. She dismissed any critics of the ‘new wine’ as renegades when she published her next letter.
My father took the opportunity to share her words once again at the family dinner table. ‘I hesitate to spend too much time talking about those few who had such a difficult time that they chose to leave The Family. But it’s important that you understand that most of the ones who left over the “Loving Jesus” revelation were those who had been weak and “sitting on the fence” for quite a while.’
‘So, according to her, these troubles had already been foretold. But it’s really a blessing.’ Dad continued to read aloud:
‘Earlier prophecies have indicated that there would be a purging of our ranks. Do you recall in “Mama’s Love Story, Part 3! – King Peter!” there was a prophecy about how the Lord would “rattle the foundations” of your faith? And He explained that the reason for such “rattling” is to test‚ purge and purify The Family.’
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