by John Bishop
sure she wouldn’t have wanted anything done to upset her plans to leave home.’
Paul nodded and they resumed reading.
Some days later, I told Rita what had happened and that I was also going to leave home. I told her she was welcome to come with me. She decided not to. I think she had already started to become drawn into herself and fearful of a world she did not understand.
My father had a large stash of money in his room. I stole it and went to Sydney. I took a room at a guesthouse. It was there I met a man, about my age, who was on his way to join a commune in Queensland. This was the era of flower-power, although I had not heard the term at the time. I had no plans and nowhere to go, so I joined him. A week or so later, I was a member of The Valley People. We lived on a property at the top of a valley running down to the sea.
In retrospect, I must admit The Valley People were an odd bunch, with some odd beliefs. I wonder, however, if those beliefs were any more extraordinary than the faith I had been taught as a child.
Megan looked up from her reading and said, ‘An odd bunch, with some odd beliefs. What sort of beliefs?’
Marcus said, ‘I know what you’re wondering. I read those Sunday tabloid articles suggesting The Valley People were Satanists. All rubbish, I assure you. It was fair enough to label the organisation a cult, but I heard less about Satan from its members than I’d heard at home from my father. Behaviour was unconventional, but of no risk to outsiders. Some of the members smoked hemp. Some used cocaine. Casual sex was available—a thing I found threatening at first, and comforting later. But I was never pressured into anything I didn’t want. I assume you know about the wrist tattoo?’ He looked pointedly at his wrists, which were covered by the cuffs of his prison shirt.
Megan nodded. ‘Yes we were aware of a wrist tattoo.’
Marcus pulled up his sleeves. There was no tattoo. He smiled again. ‘Sorry to disappoint you. The tattoos are quite impressive if well done. Some members wore them as a symbol of their commitment. I am not fond of body art. I was never criticised for opting not to have one.’
Megan and Paul resumed reading.
But for our leader’s belief that the dead benefited from being strung up facing into the valley, we might never have been vilified so thoroughly by outsiders. It was a strange ritual; but I am sure the few people it happened to had died from natural causes. The body of the departed was put in the tree. We all stood around the base, close together, holding hands and gazing at the beauty of nature. The dead person had a better view than we did. That was the symbolic benefit for the person we were told was passing through the valley to a better life. I did not believe a word of it. But I found the ritual every bit as uplifting as I had ever found a service in a cold and gloomy church.
After I had been with The Valley People for many months, two policemen and an officer from a government welfare department came to enquire about me. I learned that my father had reported me as a missing person. I told them I was happy as a member of The Valley People and invited them to come in and meet our leader. They declined and went away.
Paul looked up. ‘The reports I’ve read of police visits to cults often leave the impression that members of the cult might have been reluctant to speak out for fear of retribution.’
‘I wish you people weren’t so bloody judgemental!’ Marcus said, sharply. ‘In my view police reports are too often coloured by the preconceptions of the investigators. The impression I get from reading police reports is that they are frequently composed in the minds of the officers before the meeting takes place.’
Sensing that Paul was about to leap to the defence of unidentified colleagues and the force in general, Megan said quickly, ‘I can see you have a continuing respect for your leaders.’
‘I do!’ Marcus said, tersely. He was still stern as he spoke again directly to Paul. ‘My own reading leaves me in no doubt that some cults exercise oppressive control over their members. Not The Valley People, though. When your officers came looking for me, no barrier was placed in their way by our leaders. It’s true that some members of the group gathered and stood off at a distance. This might have seemed odd, but I knew it was intended to provide me with friends I could call for support. Fortunately, the officers did not choose to place any sinister interpretation on what happened.’
‘Then let’s move on’, Megan said.
Marcus turned toward her and said, ‘I want to stress that, although most of The Valley People had deliberately cut themselves off from life outside our small community, no restrictions were imposed on our communicating with outsiders. We had no telephones, but the postman came from time to time. That is how I came to learn my father had died. There was a letter from a solicitor. You must be up to that part in my notes.’
‘I think we are,’ Megan said.
‘Good,’ Marcus said, his tone softening. ‘Would you like me to get you something to drink? Librarian’s privilege. There’s a machine just by the door.’
‘Thank you. I’d like coffee,’ Megan said. ‘White no sugar.’
‘Same for me,’ Paul said without looking up.
When Marcus left the room, Paul said, ‘Prickly bugger! I thought my comment was innocuous.’
‘Perhaps it was. But we now know he has sensitivities about police. Not unusual in a place like this, Paul. They’ve all had to deal with coppers along the line. Let’s keep reading.’
The solicitor’s letter informed me I had inherited my father’s property and a substantial portfolio of share investments made by my grandfather. I also learned my sister was now living alone in the house. I took leave of The Valley People and returned to Arajinna, not sure what I would do.
Sadly, my sister’s early life had made her withdrawn and unworldly. She was living frugally off the large stashes of money my father had secreted around the house. She would take a little money at a time and walk into the town to buy provisions. I discovered she was considered an eccentric. She said nothing to the shopkeepers—simply bought her provisions and left. Physically, she appeared healthy. I was afraid to seek a medical opinion lest she be committed to an institution. So we lived together quietly—just the two of us in that large house.
To occupy myself, on most week days I took the bus to Calway Junction where I did several courses at the technical college and spent a lot of time at the library. I brought books home for Rita. She rarely commented on anything; but I put the books on a table near the front door and, over a period, I was able to work out what she liked—old style romances, where the nearest thing to sex might be a chaste kiss; never Agatha Christie or anything with murder or violence. The only time she ever commented was when I was taking a book back to the library and she said she wanted to read it again. It was an early Mills and Boon publication, a book called Visitors to Hugo. When I took it back, I sat in the library and read it myself. It was a sentimental story about love and family relations. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad. I decided it was good for her to have a fantasy life because she had no other pleasures, save for the beautiful surroundings in which we lived.
I had more income than we needed so, soon after my new life with Rita began, I sent a large donation to The Valley People in thanks for their having taken me in when I needed shelter.
When Marcus returned with coffee, Paul surprised Megan by smiling at him and saying, ‘Now I know why you write such good English. Those courses at the tech school. And unlike me, your handwriting is legible.’
‘Thank you,’ Marcus said. ‘When you’re isolated and lonely, reading and writing are good ways to occupy the mind. You must be getting to the guts of the story now. Enter Baldo and Jamar, if I recall correctly.’
As Megan started to read again, Marcus said to Paul, ‘Please don’t think I’m hammering a point, but the arrival of Baldo and Jamar is further proof ours was not a secretive group. They’d had no trouble getting leads to my likely whereabouts from The Valley People. In this case, I came to regret it.’
He pointed at the notes in
Paul’s hands, an obvious hint he should resume reading.
About a year later, two young men arrived on our doorstep. I recognized one of them from my time in Queensland. His name was Baldo. His colleague was Jamar. They told me they were trying to set up a new settlement of The Valley People on a property on the southern tablelands of New South Wales. An elderly farmer was allowing them to use a hilly area he no longer worked, but they lacked the money and the people to get started. They hoped I might join their new venture. I showed them I already lived in a valley and explained that I had a sister to care for. I gave them a donation of money and wished them well.
I did not see them again for several years. Then they turned up again. The venture on the southern tablelands had never taken off; the owner of the property had died and the beneficiaries of the estate had evicted the few remaining members. Both men looked to have aged by more time than had passed since I last encountered them. I suspected they had been living debauched lives. I didn’t want to take them in; but what could I do? Here I was with an ample income and a large house. I told them they could stay with us for a while to recover their health. I said I would give them the necessary funds to return to their homes in Sydney or to find board somewhere
