The Cult of Following, Book Two

by Barbara Jaques

  *

  There were always outsiders at these events, a few guests who would never again be invited to the sumptuous residence, not because they were deemed an ill fit, but because they were passing through. These were individuals of reasonable significance. Tonight’s special guests were one prominent architect, a clothes designer, a surgeon to the stars, and a novelist in town for a book launch that had already happened.

  The four had arrived separately but eventually come together, rising as one to the surface of the party for breath, when Marietta had forcibly expanded their group. Soon she had abandoned Trudy and moved on. The remaining five were standing beside a huge illuminated swimming pool, talking mildly while the surgeon smoked.

  ‘Tell me about your book,’ Trudy said to the author, a woman she thought was probably of a similar age and might benefit from some facial fillers. The author smiled, but hesitated. Trudy apologised, ‘Sorry, is that not the right thing to ask a writer?’

  ‘Not at all. What would you like to know?’

  Nothing was the truth. Rather than talk, Trudy wanted to take a drink and sit quietly in some pretty spot to think about Percy. Though she knew it was almost impossible for him to be at the party, she’d been looking out for him anyway. The dreaming would have to wait.

  ‘Where is it set?’ she asked, cocking her head to one side.

  ‘Here, in Singapore.’

  ‘And what is it about?’ Again, Trudy noticed a pause. ‘I am sure it is wonderful.’

  ‘I am not so sure it is,’ the author smiled coyly. ‘It’s mainly about expat life. I used to live here. It’s a bit of fun, really.’

  ‘A light comedy?’

  ‘Not so much light, I wouldn’t say. There are some political undertones. Subtle ones.’

  ‘Where can I buy it?’ Trudy said, voice enthusiastic though the word political had turned off her limited interest entirely.

  ‘All the stores here stock it. Or you can buy it online.’

  ‘You don’t keep copies with you?’

  ‘Uh, no. Not usually.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ Trudy said, in an unusual slip of concentration. ‘Would you excuse me? I need to speak with my husband.’ She had just noticed him climbing into the pool with Marietta Morgan. They were both in their underwear and drunk. This was not the place to behave in such a way. She walked over to remind him of this fact, manoeuvring around Marietta’s shoes. They really were ghastly, Trudy thought.

  11. PATTING THE EXPATRIATE

  Despite having accepted the failure of his marriage, it was a reoccurring struggle for Percy to maintain emotional stability. Conscious effort was still required to remain free of Sal and memories of happier times. Though he continued to attend The Discussion Group if the venue and topic was organised by Joyann, and so had social contact with others, he also remained true to his nature: a self-reliant man. So, even had it been public knowledge, it was doubtful Percy would have taken any notice of the transformation happening around him.

  As it happened, these were quiet changes, without Percy having any idea that a purpose existed solely to discuss him. The number of people involved was small, four, though this figure was slightly blurry about the edges, since one of the four, Meera, was there only because it seemed an attractively crazy thing to do.

  One afternoon, Percy’s four followers met for a luxury high tea on the open terrace of the Fullerton Hotel. It was Hester’s treat, and Trudy, Norm and Meera had all looked forward to it. The Fullerton, once Singapore’s grand Post Office, was a beautiful place with a fine reputation, and so a lovely time lay ahead. Located by the river, it was a spot that in any other city might be considered beautiful. In a tiny yet rich island state, it was nothing more than perfectly nice, a very pleasant location amongst many.

  After taking their seats, a white bellied sea eagle began circling above them, drifting slowly, sharp against the even, mid grey of low cloud; a sky threatening nothing more than a usual day; thickening air building slowly into a magnificent storm to be delivered when least convenient. As the bird landed in the high branches of a nearby tree, the chattering sounds of the city were quietly lost behind its haunting mew. Hester absorbed it all, pleased with such an atmosphere. In a flowing red caftan with gold silk scarf, grey hair carelessly tied, she sat as if holding court.

  Had either Trudy or Norm known they were sitting within one hundred metres or so of a place Percy had once been, a place he had been sitting many months before, eating in the company of his wife and her colleagues, they might have made their first pilgrimage, strolling over to feel what Percy had felt, to see what he had seen in this earlier time. As it was, they glanced appreciatively at the eagle, admired their surroundings and pondered Hester’s question, pitched immediately after ordering Devon cream tea for four.

  Summarise Percy’s qualities.

  Norm was eager to speak, since Percy was his favourite topic. But Hester, despite posing the question and encouraging everyone to offer at least one comment, was not prepared to give way. She knew she could raise tension by making whoever wanted to speak wait, and tension was good; as eagerness grew so thoughts would bowl ahead, any doubt ignored.

  The hook was in, but was it secure? Hester began explaining her own thoughts immediately. ‘He lifts my spirits,’ she began, adding that the words he spoke she often considered profound. ‘But he is down to earth, a man so without pomposity that I can only say I am in awe of his humble nature.’ Her eyes shifted between Norm and Trudy, ignoring Meera, resting upon each in turn, a queen examining her subjects. She chuckled. ‘I know he may not seem humble at times, because there are occasions when what he says might be interpreted as arrogant. But there is a fine line between arrogance and expression, just as there is a fine line between shyness and rudeness.’

  Meera smiled. ‘Wow.’

  Hester couldn’t help but laugh a little. She was in no doubt that Meera was along for the ride, for she’d said as much. But Meera did not know that Hester was also playing. Fabrication, whatever the degree of seriousness, was not something Hester shared. She learned long ago not to include others in her exploits, not to ever tell a fellow boarder that it was her who exchanged semolina for frogspawn; not unless she were prepared to eat it, again.

  ‘What are you laughing about?’ asked Trudy.

  Hester’s laugh slowed into a smile, her answer ready. ‘I was thinking about a remark Percy made, one that was rather rude, if I am honest. But he said it with that edge he has, you know the one?’

  Everyone, including Meera, nodded.

  ‘That was all. He can be quite cheeky.’

  ‘Why were you thinking of it?’ Trudy said.

  Inside, unseen, Hester glowed with satisfaction. Increasingly, Trudy and Norm were picking up the crumbs she was laying down. ‘I suppose because it has become relevant.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because, Trudy, much later, when I was sitting at home enjoying a tipple on the veranda, his remark came back to me. With the little bit of space and time, I realised he meant something more. I began to think about what he was actually saying. And now, here with you all, I can see it really was relevant. But that of course, is not why I was laughing. I was laughing because Percy can be very cheeky at times.’

  ‘What did he mean?’ asked Trudy.

  ‘Hey, just one moment,’ Meera interrupted, ‘what was the first remark, lah? The one you figured out, once you had drunk enough wine?’ She smiled.

  Hester looked about herself, as if searching for words. She aimed her reply at Trudy. ‘He meant we should spend less time following what everyone else does, and think more about making our own choices.’ Her attention shifted to Norm. ‘You understand better than anyone what this might mean?’

  ‘Well, I agree with that,’ said Meera, since Norm appeared lost for words. ‘Though it is a difficult thing to achieve in a country like Singapore.’

  ‘It is,’ agreed Hester, ‘but it needn’t mean political rebellion, or denying family or fa
ith,’ her gaze travelled over Norm’s face, ‘though it might, of course. It could be much simpler than that. Day-to-day choices. Very easy things, like how we treat other people.’

  ‘What was it he said,’ asked Norm, ‘when you thought he’d been rude?’

  ‘Yes, what was it?’ encouraged Meera. ‘You haven’t told us.’

  Hester rolled her eyes skyward in an ambiguous gesture, leaving it unclear whether the original words were a privilege or an embarrassment to repeat. ‘You may have noticed a rather large lady has joined the group?’ she began.

  ‘Yes. That’s… ooo… what’s her name?’ asked Trudy. ‘Nice lady. Chilean, I think.’

  Meera and Norm both squinted, seeming to be searching their memories.

  ‘Monique?’ Norm offered.

  Trudy dismissed it.

  ‘Olga?’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mary?’

  ‘Not Mary, no.’

  ‘Francesca?’

  ‘Norm! You’re just saying random names.’

  ‘Maria?’

  ‘Stop,’ Hester ordered, ‘I am not sure it matters what her name is. The point is, she is large; very large.’

  ‘She never eats snacks,’ Trudy declared. ‘She told me. She says she just eats three meals a day. It’s her hormones, apparently.’

  ‘Big boned,’ Meera added.

  ‘Well, I saw her snacking on a bag of those dried noodle things. And a chocolate bar,’ Hester said, before waving away her own comment along with everyone else’s. ‘Now let’s get back on track.’

  Norm grinned, ‘Yes, do tell us what he said.’

  Hester decided to preface the statement, ‘Remember. It sounds very rude, but there is more to it.’

  They nodded.

  ‘He said if Olga,’

  ‘Not Olga,’ interjected Trudy.

  ‘Or whatever she is called…’

  ‘Which isn’t Olga.’

  ‘…If Olga had spent less time queuing for the burger van and more time queuing for a decent face, her life would be very different.’

  ‘That is not nice,’ said Meera. ‘Olga is not a good looking woman, but I think I could do something with her.’

  ‘It is very harsh,’ agreed Hester.

  ‘Queuing for a face, Hester?’ Norm said, puzzled.

  ‘Before birth.’

  He thought for a moment, and Hester watched him. ‘I am guessing the burger van queue was long,’ he said, ‘but the aroma was tempting?’

  Hester tried not to smile. ‘I think the point is the offer of immediate gain, in the form of satisfaction. It’s what everybody else wants too, which gives something even as innocuous as a queue perceived value.’

  ‘A nice face has value,’ Meera said, sounding a little hurt.

  Hester smiled, brightly. ‘Let’s not get too caught up in the burger versus face thing. Suffice it to say, the moral is this: do not blindly join in.’

  ‘So it wasn’t the smell of frying?’ said Norm.

  Hester sighed. Trying to keep control of an idea they had taken to heart so firmly was exhausting.

  Much to her delight, the waiter arrived. While he laid out cups and saucers, scones, jam and clotted cream, Hester took the opportunity to move the conversation on. ‘Anyway, to return to my original question, regarding Percy’s qualities. I have to say that for me he feels like the foundation of something. Solid beneath my feet,’ she shuffled her sandals lightly, ‘someone to rely on.’

  Norm and Trudy nodded solemnly. In the brief pause, Norm tried to cut in, but before a word could be formed, he once again found himself submitting to Hester’s matronly dominance.

  ‘I feel I can rely on Percy, even though I cannot claim to know him. And,’ she continued, lowering her voice, ‘I have learned something recently that makes sense of all my feelings.’

  Expectant faces urged progression and a dramatic hesitation ensued, Hester’s shoulders drawn back for added effect. She said, in her most convincing tone – especially convincing because it was perfectly trimmed with a tiny dash of doubt – that she had yet again observed Percy curing someone on Orchard Road.

  ‘The injured arm of an elderly man,’ she said. ‘He then ripped off his sling and hugged Percy with the very same limb.’

  The story of the miracle had been flawlessly presented, and Hester could see it had obliterated any plans the others had for articulating their own feelings regarding Percy. It was impossible to match a miracle with anything less than a miracle. Norm’s mouth gaped, speechless, when only moments before there was so much he had clearly been bursting to share. Trudy simply stared.

  Meera quietly watched Hester, as the other two absorbed what had been said. Hester smiled at them all, and shrugged, as if to express her own doubt in what she had seen. This was a fail-safe approach to securing the credibility of the teller, if not the tale being told. The teller’s integrity was paramount.

  Though her lies had lessened a little over the years, lying was the warp and weft of Hester’s nature, and she was still good at it. It was not like riding a horse for the first time in twenty years, desperately trying to remember what was once so natural. Lying had always been easy, and still was; an act so accomplished it was as if Hester practised every day, just as she had as a child. As with other proficient liars, she found that a tale told sufficiently well and with enough conviction soon began to feel like the truth, and before long it became exactly that, so real that the teller believed it too. This knowledge touched the nub of her past, old lessons learned in how to comfort one’s own heartaches. A falsehood told equalled a problem solved. Pivotal though that first lie was, remembered it was not.

  Hester was so skilled, that her conviction did not manifest itself as insistence. There was no demand that others should accept her lie as truth simply because she had said it. Not even in her early years did she cry, it’s-true-it’s-true-it’s-true, or demand are you calling me a liar? For Hester, conviction meant only a belief in the worth of the lie. To say, I absolutely saw it, so it is true, made for an unconvincing tale, even to the teller. Whereas, this is what I saw and I agree, it seems incredible, made the lie plausible.

  And what was the harm in a lie, she felt, particularly in the case of raising Percy Field to greater heights, and finding a better path for Norman; securing a more positive way of living for Trudy? Surely a lie told in support of a greater purpose could not be wrong. She hadn’t lied about the burger van statement, only chosen to draw something from it.

  Meera was the only one to voice doubt. ‘Hester, can you really be sure? I mean, it could have been coincidence.’

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose. But what sort of coincidence is it when a man touches something damaged and it suddenly mends?’ Her intonation strolled between that of an English aristocrat and mid Atlantic, nothing like the accent of her abandoned and forgotten home over two thousand miles away in Darwin, Northern Territory. ‘I agree, it does seem beyond the realms of possibility, somehow.’

  ‘But you saw it?’ said Trudy. ‘You saw it before and you’ve seen it again.’

  ‘I know. But it doesn’t make believing it any easier, even for me. I keep going over it, trying to find some other reason for the two events, but I keep coming back to the same thing.’

  Trudy’s eyes narrowed in the absence of the ability to frown effectively. ‘Which is?’

  ‘Either I am going mad or Percy Field is faith healing.’

  ‘That much is obvious, isn’t it?’ observed Trudy.

  ‘I assume you mean the faith healing…’ Hester said, with mock warning.

  ‘Did you speak with him?’

  ‘Trudy, my dear, what would I say?’

  ‘But you could have spoken with him, right? Could you?’

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t like before. I could easily have spoken with him. I am embarrassed to admit that I was too shocked. My eighty years are catching up with me, perhaps.’

  Norm found his voice. ‘What did the man do? After he hugge
d Percy?’

  ‘Ah. Well this I couldn’t see. A crowd of Chinese tourists blocked my view.’

  Hester sensed the excited mood of the table was condensing into contemplation, each person assessing the account placed before them.

  ‘What does it mean when a man can heal others by touch?’ Trudy asked, quietly.

  ‘Only one thing, I suppose,’ said Hester. ‘But it seems extraordinary.’

  ‘He knows,’ Norm interrupted, with a loud whisper. ‘He must know what he is, to have done it. He can’t have randomly touched someone and then thought: oh, look at that; I can heal people, before doing the same thing all over again and still thinking nothing of it. He knew before, he knows now, and now we know too.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That he’s something more than a man, Trudy.’

  ‘Was this not Hester’s suggestion? That he knows he is special?’ said Meera, tone leisurely. ‘I am a beautician and am totally aware of the fact. And I am aware that I am an amazing being. And if I know that about myself, then Percy must know it about himself.’

  ‘It’s not a laughing matter,’ Trudy said.

  ‘Who is being funny?’ Meera questioned.

  ‘I don’t think it necessarily follows that he understands his calling. That would suggest he was born knowing it,’ Hester said. ‘Surely there comes a time in adult life when a person’s destiny is revealed.’ Hester chose to look at Meera, one of the most self-aware women she had met of late. She opted not to make eye contact with either Norm or Trudy. ‘Perhaps Percy’s time is coming?’ she added.

  ‘Or has arrived,’ interjected Norm. ‘Let’s not forget he has now healed two people. Not one. Two.’

  ‘Yes, Norm,’ Meera said, ‘but try not to get carried away.’

  Hester frowned, ‘Not be carried away by a man healing with his hands? A man curing total strangers in front of witnesses?’

  Meera sighed. ‘Okay, lah. It was a miracle.’

  And there it was, Hester thought gleefully. The M word, out in the open; spoken by the one person who would never believe it.

  Trudy’s eyes brightened, ‘Do you think it will be in the Straits Times?’

  ‘No!’ Hester’s reply was firm. ‘This is Singapore. There is no room for someone healing people for free. I think it is better if this story isn’t plastered all over the papers, in any case, because it might be seen as a religious thing, and that wouldn’t be good. Old religions have to share airtime in Singapore, so I doubt new ones are welcome. In fact, I know they are not.’

  ‘Why?’ questioned Norm.

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘If your own faith is evangelical, in the sense of self-promotion, I mean, then yes, you should Norman. You can’t promote religion here. Any. The Moonies are banned, did you know that?’

  ‘Should we speak with Percy about it?’ Trudy questioned. ‘Perhaps now is the time? If he’s ready to heal publicly, then maybe he is ready to hear that we know he is special. I mean, come on! He’s doing stuff on Orchard Road, right?’

  ‘Orchard Road seems a funny place to start healing people. Especially with Mount Elizabeth Hospital right there,’ Meera said.

  ‘What difference does that make?’ argued Norm. ‘That man probably had no money.’

  Hester beckoned a waiter, hastening the clearing of a nearby table, uncomfortable with so many mynah birds picking over the crumb-covered tablecloth. ‘And there is healing and then there is healing, don’t forget.’

  ‘Maybe it is time to speak with Percy, but I am not sure that I am ready for him to know,’ Trudy mumbled. ‘I am not sure what it will change for the better.’

  ‘It’s too easy to say I am not ready,’ replied Norm, sweeping his own crumbs off the table, and inadvertently drawing in the feathered vermin. ‘People say it all the time to avoid change. It’s just another way of saying one day, which actually means no day. Never.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand, Norm.’ Trudy’s brown eyes were suddenly shining wet.

  ‘Trudy dear, are you feeling quite well?’ Hester asked.

  ‘If we tell him now, then what if he walks away from us? You know how he can be. I don’t want that. This has meant a lot, our little group. Percy means a great deal to me.’

  ‘I feel a great deal for him too,’ Norm said, ‘a great deal. More than you could know.’

  Trudy turned away and sniffed into a serviette, but Meera looked at Norm as if having her own private revelation. ‘Norm, you are a gay. And you fancy him, lah, This is all.’

  Everyone looked at Meera and then to Norm, before choosing a passing boat as suitable visual distraction.

  ‘I think you mean to ask if Norman is homosexual, Meera,’ Hester commented, after a few moments.

  Drying her eyes, Trudy agreed with a little chuckle of recovered humour. ‘Yes, dear, and you can’t really say a gay. It’s not politically correct. Gay is all right, but not a gay. I wouldn’t call you a Singaporean… oh, I suppose I might, and to say a woman and an Indian… ah…’ Trudy’s brow tried knitting in puzzlement.

  Meera rolled her eyes. ‘I am not asking.’

  Norm looked down at Cocoa, tied to the leg of the table, too hot to bother raising her head for either the mynah birds or for Norm. ‘There is no such thing as homosexuality in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At least, it is not considered a natural state.’

  Hester laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Norman. And what were your parents thinking of naming you Norman? Norman the Mormon, I mean, really.’

  Norm nodded, ‘I am not sure what I am, in any sense. Certainly, with regard to the church, I am doubting something I have spent a lifetime practicing.’

  ‘You should ask yourself why are you doubting, Norm.’ Trudy said, gently.

  ‘A Doubting Norman.’

  Ignoring Hester’s remark, Norm said, ‘Let’s just say a certain person is making me see things differently. But old habits die hard.’ He indicated the tea in his cup, still not drunk.

  ‘More tea! Good idea, while we talk things over?’ Hester exclaimed, brushing aside the conversation. She had deliberately not asked Norm if he wanted something different to drink, and nor would she ever again. The day he ordered, and then happily finished, a hot chocolate was marked in her mind not only as the day he demonstrated a weakening devotion, but also as the day she ceased to pander.

  ‘So who will tell him?’ Trudy asked, returning to the topic, resigned to the coming situation.

  ‘Tell him what?’ Meera asked.

  ‘That he is more than just a man. That he is someone special.’

  ‘And we’re decided that we should say something?’ questioned Hester.

  A murmur of agreement spread.

  All looked to Norm.

  ‘You should,’ Hester said, directing her words to him. ‘Although I suppose organise things, it was you who inspired this little group and you who first knew Percy. Norman, you should do it, definitely.’

  ‘But you witnessed the miracles, Hester,’ he protested, albeit weakly.

  ‘I did, but no matter.’

  For a moment, it seemed there was nothing more to say, despite more tea coming. Hester prompted conversation, ‘So, Norman, it’s your turn now, tell us what it is that you think is so special about Percy?’

  Norm blushed a little. Hester suspected Meera openly raising the subject of his sexuality was the reason for the change in shade.

  ‘Well,’ he began, smiling now, ‘the first time I saw Percy he was walking deep in thought. And then I realised that whenever I saw him he was alone and thinking.’

  Norm was speaking quietly, Hester noticed, sounding almost sad. It was a form of respect, perhaps.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Trudy cooed.

  ‘Yes,’ Norm agreed, ‘I like the straight way in which he deals with questions without being pushy. Percy has no doubt. He has the answers and needs no one to guide him. And he is inherently good, I suppose.’ r />
  This brief testimony was nothing compared to Hester’s miracle, nor could it be. She kept staring at him, experimenting with coercion. What would he say when the pressure of expectation was upon him?

  ‘I felt something when he touched me, once.’ Norm turned his teacup around in its saucer. ‘He doesn’t tend to touch that often.’

  ‘Maybe we now know why,’ suggested Trudy. ‘What happened when he touched you?’

  Hester noticed Meera smirking, and frowned at her.

  ‘It felt as if he had taken out my worries.’

  ‘Do you think he meant for that to happen?’ Hester asked.

  Norm shrugged, and for a moment the four sat in silence. Then Norm nodded, eyes brightening. ‘You know, I believe he did have a purpose. When I think about it now, it was very uncharacteristic of him. He never touches.’

  ‘So what happened? Exactly?’ Trudy’s question, Hester noted, was now tinged with the beginnings of envy.

  ‘Oh, you know, he just sort of placed a hand on my…’

  ‘Head?’ Trudy interrupted.

  ‘No. My shoulder.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Hester watched Norm rise to the challenge, to justify his previous statement when probably only a friendly pat had occurred.

  ‘I passed out.’

  He might have regretted such rash words, Hester knew, but it was too late. The instant he swapped embroidered truth for total fabrication, the stage was finally set. She knew it would only take one person’s bending of the facts to achieve this. She had expected it to be Trudy.

  ‘And when you awoke?’ Hester ensured she appeared to be studying Norm.

  ‘I felt as if my worries, if you can call them that, were not gone but entirely manageable. It was like I’d been trying to do a jigsaw puzzle, but the lid with the picture was missing. Then I found it.’

  ‘Wow,’ Meera said, though her tone did not suggest any greater sense of awe than it had the first time she said it.

  ‘Wow?’ questioned Hester, ‘It’s incredible, is what it is. Truly incredible! See what happens when we sit and talk, when we open up our hearts to the truth?’ And truthfully, Hester was indeed taken aback. This response was real, so for whatever nonsense Norman had shared about the hand upon his shoulder and passing out, one way or another, Percy was clearly having a positive effect. Briefly, she felt in awe of Percy Field herself, an intolerant misanthrope who, for some unaccountable reason, had the gift of enabling the vulnerable to view common sense as extraordinary

  Hester saw Trudy’s face take on a slight look of dismay. Plainly, she was disappointed not to have been singled out by Percy herself.