Everyone murmured, “Our purity reflects our desire.”
Fletcher read some more prayers. I was trying to follow the gist of it, which seemed to be about light and darkness. I didn’t hear him mention God, which was a relief. I also noticed there was none of that ‘thee’ or ‘thou’ stuff. It was all in modern English. But the strangest thing was that absolutely everyone was paying attention. People were either following in the pamphlet or watching Fletcher and listening. There was depth and seriousness in their eyes. It made me feel kind of inferior.
Then Fletcher stopped and there was more silence. I was getting used to this silence now. It had a quality all of its own, like a white noise, like a silken veil held close to your skin. It exerted a gentle pressure on me, on everyone. Then a bloke I couldn’t put a name to got up from the bench, went over to the bath of water and knelt by it. He immersed his hands in the water and began to wash them, and spoke as he did so.
“I, Chris Taylor, swore aloud when I was cut up on the roundabout this afternoon.”
“We trust you will be forgiven,” came a few voices.
The guy continued to wash his hands for a few moments longer, then shook them over the bath. Without drying them, he went back to his seat. His place was taken by Nick, who also began to wash his hands.
“I, Nick Lewis, failed my ASD today. I deplore my weakness.”
“We trust you will be forgiven,” came the response.
Nick didn’t look too well, I thought. I wondered if he’d been eating properly, and what that ASD was. That is, if I’d heard it right. But now was hardly the time to ask. Somebody came to help Nick up from where he’d been kneeling over the bath of water. At the same time a girl left the benches and came to the water. She was quite striking to look at, with high cheekbones, masses of reddish, curly hair, a good figure, but slightly gawky – or maybe she was just moving in a nervous way.
“I, Auriel Beaven, permitted malicious gossip to be spoken in my presence. I didn’t have the courage to stop the backbiting – it was about my line manager at work – because it was true. I happen to know my boss does those things that her colleagues accused her of. So I wasn’t sure whether to agree with the truth or stop the bad feeling.”
She seemed really upset.
“I regret my confusion,” she continued, “and ask for clarity of mind and purpose in the future. And when I washed the floor today, I accidentally made a dirty smudge afterwards, when I was carrying out the water, and didn’t go back to clean it. For this I am truly sorry.”
“We trust you will be forgiven,” Fletcher muttered.
“And I had unlawful thoughts. I wanted to eat today, I wanted more than my fair share and looked enviously at the portions of others. I’ve vowed to give up all food containing sugar, but I doubt my own intentions. For this may I be forgiven.”
“You will be forgiven,” Fletcher said, this time loudly. Auriel flinched, and, trembling, returned to her seat. Well, I thought, there’s always one weirdo in the pack.
One by one, more White Ones came to the bath to wash their hands and confess their wrongdoings. I was fascinated, hoping someone had done something really juicy. Then Bea left my side.
“I, Beatrice Rossi, have allowed my mind to become clouded by an obsessive thought. I have prayed for that which is not permissible. I acknowledge my weakness of dwelling too much on thoughts which are bad for me. I thank the Light for the help it has given me in the past and know it will continue to do so in the future.”
“We trust you will be forgiven.”
It looked quite beautiful, everyone kneeling by the bath, washing their hands. I wondered if I ought to join them, although Fletcher did say I was there as an observer, so perhaps I’d better not. I asked myself what I had done that day that, theoretically, I could confess. God, it was hard to know where to begin! It depends on what you count as a sin really, and what you would say was natural. Like, your body makes certain demands, so what can you do? Is that a sin? Or leaving the washing-up for Mum and Gemma because I just couldn’t be arsed. Or thinking what a plonker Kevin is? Was my dislike of him a sin?
Then the humming started again. One by one people retreated from the bath. The two blokes who had carried in the water lifted the bath again, and Fletcher opened a door that led outside. Everyone rose and massed around the door. The candles flickered at the rush of cold air. The water was carried out to a drain and tipped into it. Fletcher’s voice rose above the humming.
“As the water returns to the earth we ask that our Darknesses of spirit, thought and action return to their source, and we can move on unencumbered to the path of Light.”
More silence except for the sound of gurgling water. Then everyone began to hug each other, murmuring something.
Bea hugged me. “Peace and Perfection,” she said.
I said it back. Then a bloke hugged me. We exchanged the greeting of Peace and Perfection. I think I was hugged five or six times. It was like a match when you score a goal. These were hugs of friendship, of being on the same side. Sure, it was odd, but kind of nice.
Then everyone chanted, “I believe in truth, in purity, in wholeness. I believe in goodness, in right, in light. I ask for the power of the Light to enter my body and soul… May it be my lot to achieve Perfection… I will stay by the fountain of Light… May it be my lot to achieve Perfection. May it be your lot to achieve Perfection. To the One, to the Light – salaam, shalom, peace. Peace be with you.”
Then they – we – let go of each other’s hands and kissed our fingertips. Bea turned to me and placed her kissed fingertips on my lips, lightly. The tingle travelled from my lips to every part of me. Weird. But good.
We sat again. I looked round at everyone. They didn’t seem so strange any more. Because we’d all taken part in something I felt connected to them. And yet. And yet. The truth was, I envied them. They had something I wanted – I couldn’t have put it better than that. Yes. I wanted whatever it was they had.
6.
From Rendall’s Parables: The Tale of the Brothers
In a distant land dwelt a young man who loved his village. Every day, accompanied by his two younger brothers, he walked through its streets, greeting its inhabitants. Yet those that lived in the village reviled him; they spoke of him and his brothers as mad.
The day came when a bird settled on his shoulder, singing him a song of freedom and light. It sang of a land far away where all those he met would greet him with love and acceptance. So the bird led the young men from the village through the barren lands out to sea. Here was a boat packed with provisions, and the young man and his brothers set sail.
They sailed for a year and a day. One night the sky darkened and there was a storm of perilous magnitude. The sky crashed above them and the seas crashed around them. Despite the efforts of the young man, his brothers perished in the storm.
Soon after that time the young man arrived at the place the bird had promised. And in the morning he arose, went to his new home, and knew that he was loved. And he donned his white garb, and dwelt among his brethren.
So I kept going up to the farm, attending some Services, watching, talking. When my old mates came back from uni, I wriggled out of seeing them, except for Phil, who insisted we go out to the pub. I offered to drive so I didn’t have to drink. In fact it wasn’t too bad. The only mention I made of the White Ones was of Bea. I just talked about this girl I was seeing. Phil was only slightly interested as he was full of himself and just wanted to tell me what he’d been up to. That suited me. I didn’t want to say a lot about Bea either. I wasn’t quite certain what to do about her. Because she was training to be a White One, I had to bide my time and see how she wanted to conduct the relationship. To tell you the truth, I was a bit lost. In my other life, in the real world, I’d usually snog a girl first, then decide if I wanted to see her again. And I might or I might not. If I did, I’d suggest a film or something, and see if I could talk to her. And if I could, if I found I both fancied and liked her
, then I’d go for it. Because a relationship with a girl was like a double thing, mental and physical.
With Bea it was different. I definitely knew I fancied her, and I was pretty sure she fancied me. I caught her looking at me in a certain way. But apart from the odd squeeze of her hand, a peck on the cheek, or the sensation of her thigh pressed close to mine when we sat on a bench together, there had been nothing. Nothing physical. Instead I found myself pouring out the story of my life. She had interesting comments to make about my mates and family. I told her about Tasha too. She said some partings were inevitable, were meant to be. I found myself getting closer to Bea, but we’d never kissed, nobody acknowledged us as an item – heck, even we didn’t acknowledge ourselves as an item. Yet we were one, I was sure of it. But I didn’t want to press the point, in case she said something negative. So we drifted on, getting closer, not saying or doing anything. I thought about her most of the time, dreamed about her, thought of her as my girlfriend but couldn’t say she was. There was no one else on the farm she spent as much time with as me.
But don’t think I only got involved with the White Ones because of Bea. There was more to it than that. Like, when I went to the farm, everyone around me was happy. You don’t realise how miserable most people are. At work, at home, at school, everyone has long faces. If you’re in a good mood, people think you’re clowning around. I read once that some bloke said most people lead lives of quiet desperation. That’s true. Except on the farm. There, people communicated, smiled, opened up. I liked it, pure and simple.
And I admired them for giving up things – the way they didn’t drink or smoke or do drugs. That took some willpower, willpower most people didn’t have. I reckon their belief system helped them. Personally, I didn’t know what to make of that part of it. For me, going to their Services and joining in with their rituals was like playing a virtual reality game. Like when I was a kid and you’d play aliens or whatever and you’d really BE an intrepid space commander for half an hour or so, and then your mum would call you in and you’d drop it. So while I was attending their Services I kind of believed it all, but I knew really that I didn’t. Or so I thought.
Then my mum started asking me questions, like who my new friends were, that sort of thing. I almost told her the truth but luckily stopped myself. My parents might have understood what good the White Ones were doing me, but then again, they were more likely to ask awkward questions and then pick an argument. So I told them Nick, Kate, Bea and Fletcher were living in a commune, that they were mainly artists, were into wholefood, the alternative living thing. I said quite a few of them worked outside the commune, too. I made more of my individual friendships with them, especially Bea. I lied and said she was my girlfriend. When Mum asked do they take drugs, I answered with complete honesty, no way! When she said, if you have a girlfriend, you must be responsible, I said, we’re not sleeping together. Then she asked, you’re not thinking of going up there to live, are you? That was harder. I can see the attraction of their way of life, I replied, but I like my home comforts too much. Mum seemed satisfied, and anyway, she was totally stressed out about Christmas.
Just before Christmas was the one night I’ll always remember. It began just like an average evening – me at the farm, watching Auriel dish out a rather watery but over-spiced chickpea stew. I was quite happy not to have too much of it. I was glad that Nick was able to join us. I knew he suffered bouts of ill-health, but he was looking slightly better tonight. Kate was there, Fletcher, and Bea. The Evening Service had been about an hour ago – it was pitch-black outside now – but the kitchen was warm and it was great to be all together like that.
“Do you like it?” Auriel asked. She meant the stew.
“Sure,” I said.
“You don’t. I can tell. You’re eating it too slowly, Joe.”
I shovelled in a few mouthfuls and grinned at her. I’d already got to know Auriel quite well. She was the neurotic one, always needing reassurance. But she wasn’t on antidepressants any more, Bea had told me. Before the White Ones, Auriel had had some kind of mental problem. Her family were talking about having her sectioned. Then she met Kate. Living here had straightened her out. Well, almost. But the White Ones tolerated odd behaviour – it was only on the outside that unusual behaviour was classified as mental illness. Auriel lived happily here, and Bea said her parents even came to visit her from time to time.
“Eat some more, Nick,” Auriel cajoled.
Nick moved his spoon around the plate and then attempted a mouthful. He never had much of an appetite. Will meanwhile shovelled his food down. He used to be a soldier, I’d learned. He was a straightforward kind of guy, loyal, no nonsense – the most ordinary person you could think of. He’d come from a group of White Ones in Scotland – because I’d learned there were groups everywhere. Not that they advertised themselves. They didn’t seek to convert, but just wanted to live according to their principles.
Fletcher said to Nick, “You look better.” Then he turned to me. “When Nick was in India, Joe, he picked up a parasitical infection. He’s not completely cured yet. We’re all focusing on his recovery, and Nick’s doing what he can to overcome it. It’s a matter of boosting his immune system.”
“Yes,” Nick said. “The mental and physical are linked.”
I nodded vigorously “Like when I had glandular fever – it was after my exams, when I was exhausted.”
“Yes,” Nick continued, looking flushed. “But your body also expresses its spiritual lack of balance in an external fashion.”
“Come again?” I said.
“Illness isn’t random – it seizes on a weakness, a fifth column in your system. Tackling illness is as much about spiritual discipline as medicine. Rendall shrunk a tumour through a full SD vigil.”
That was interesting. Rendall, I knew, was the Father of the White Ones. SD was sensory deprivation. However, White Ones mainly practised Alternate Sense Deprivation – ASD – as a spiritual discipline. I’d seen them do it, wearing blindfolds, stuffing their ears, covering their skin. They did without one sense each day. But full SD! I wondered what that would be like.
Before I had a chance to ask, Bea spoke. “I only wish I’d met the White Ones when my mother was ill.”
I saw Auriel reach out to hold Bea’s hand and I wished I’d thought of doing that. Bea had told me her mother had died of cancer, around two years ago. We were all sombre for a moment.
Then Fletcher said, “She is with the Light.”
Bea looked at him gratefully. Just then she looked so vulnerable and lost I wanted to hold her tight to me and show her that someone loved her. But instead I had to satisfy myself with being part of the group.
Still, when the meal, such as it was, had finished, I asked Bea if we could have some time alone. She looked a little unsure and I noticed how her eyes sought Fletcher’s.
He answered my question. “Later,” he said. “There’s some things I’d like to talk to Joe about.”
It was a friendly suggestion, and I was made to feel as if there wasn’t enough of me to spread around. So later I followed Fletcher up to his quarters. Nick came too, leaning on Will’s arm for support.
I’d not been to Fletcher’s room before. We walked up the stairs and along a corridor into a large living/bedroom with a door leading off, presumably to a private bathroom. There was a fireplace with a three-bar electric fire standing in it, a bed with a faded patchwork bedspread, a desk with books, papers, and an anglepoise lamp. In one corner there was a rail with a few items of clothing hanging down. There was a poster on the wall of that mushroom-effect explosion you associate with nuclear bombs. Quite striking, when you looked at it. The floor was just polished floorboards scattered with cheap rugs. The effect was fairly Spartan, but also comfortable, the kind of place you wouldn’t mind spending time in.
Fletcher sat on the floor, cross-legged, his back against his bed. Nick sat by him on the bed, like a sort of bodyguard. Uncertain what to do, I followed Will and
sat on the floor, below the poster, my back against the wall, my legs stuck out. I had this feeling that the guys had something important to say to me and my first thought was that I’d done something wrong. I felt a bit fidgety. Or maybe they were going to say that I’d spent enough time with them and they wanted me out. Why was it I always expected the worst?
“So,” Fletcher began. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” I said, a bit nervous.
“Have you got any questions?”
Why is it your mind always goes blank when people ask you that?
“Questions about what?” I parried.
“Us. The Light. Anything. We’ve seen you getting more and more involved and thought it was time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time for you to be honest. Why are you here, what do you want, what do you want from us?”
With Fletcher, you always told the truth. He had no truck with lies.
“I like you all as people,” I said, “and I’m interested in what you do here. It gives me something to do with my time.”
Whenever I spoke like that, completely honest, I felt kind of naked, or as if I’d crept out from behind a bush and a sniper had me in his targets. Fletcher rested his chin on his hand and thought about what I’d said.
“It gives you something to do with your time. Most people don’t think about how they spend their time. They’re just led by their desires, towards food, sex, material possessions. Thinking is what separates White Ones from the rest.”
I was flattered by what he said.
“I admire the fact you’re prepared to be different,” I said, “and I admire your principles. But what I can’t get my head round is your belief system. Tell me if I’m right. You believe in the forces of Light and Darkness. That Light is Good and Good is Light and you have to be one with the Light by living as purely as you can. And then when you die you sort of merge with the Light. And you fight the forces of Darkness. Like the Jedi,” I kidded.
Blinded by the Light Page 5
