by H M Sealey
I flinch away from her as if scalded. “You’re a Christian? That’s illegal!”
“No dear, it’s not illegal. Frowned upon certainly, and it’s illegal to raise children as Christians, but NuTru have never quite let themselves ban it completely. That would make them seem intolerant.”
She finishes mending my dressing-gown and stands up.
“You’re awfully pale dear. Have we shocked you?”
I don’t respond. I’ve never met anyone who openly admitted to being Christians before. Like it wasn’t a big thing.
“Um….a bit.”
“I don’t blame you. The propaganda NuTru spews out it terrible.” Sylvester sips his coffee and regards me thoughtfully. “I don’t think anybody can distinguish between truth and lies any more.”
“I was sure...I mean….Christianity is illegal. Like Paedophilia used to be.”
Sylvester shakes his head with a sigh. “There are people in the government who’ll always find a way to call what is evil good and good evil, but I never thought I’d live to see the day child abuse became acceptable.”
“It – it’s not abuse. It’s giving children a choice.”
The look they both give me cuts me inside, like I’ve just said something that makes them sad.
“Adults should be protecting children Elsie. And as for Christianity, they never intended to ban it, that would look far too draconian and they like to keep up the pretence they believe in freedom of speech.”
Hajjah replaces her sewing box and pats him on the shoulder. “As long as the people all speak the way they’ve been taught to. Yes.” She agrees. “Remember Britain Together?”
I’ve heard of Britain Together. “Weren’t they those terrible, right-wing bigots who burned mosques?”
To my surprise both Sylvester and Hajjah gaze at me sadly. “That’s what NuTru wanted you to think, yes. Really, Britain Together was a political movement that believed Britain shouldn’t be split up. They believed it freedom, the rule of law, equality and in Britain maintaining our own borders. They weren’t radicals, they just disagreed with NuTru and with the British Shariah Court. They weren’t bigots or racists, just ordinary people who loved their country.”
Hajjah leans down and kisses his head. “But the media does as its told. NuTru wanted Britain Together discredited and that’s what happened. It got to the point where even clicking on Britainm Together’s website was considered possible radicalisation and people were arrested. The country learned to believe NuTru when it said Britain Together was evil, and nobody dared check they weren’t being lied to.”
I don’t like what she’s saying. I put my coffee back on the table, half drunk.
“I have something of yours.” I say, pushing my hand into my pocket and drawing out the little bible. I place it on the table and slide it away, as if it might burn my fingers. I offer Mr. Jourdete an apologetic glance. “It has your name in it.”
Once free of the hateful book, I push the chair backwards and cross the yellow-tiled kitchen; I’m uncomfortable in here, with these people. I want to go home. It’s been a long, horrible day. Missy’s still gone, Gran’s up to all sorts and I feel horribly lost. I just want to burst into tears. I want to curl up in bed, pull the duvet over my head, open my eyes and find out today never happened.
Sylvester and Hajjah gaze at the bible with open interest.
“It’s not mine!” I tell them with indignation. “I found it.”
“It’s not illegal.” Hajjah tells me gently. I shake my head.
“I saw someone arrested for bringing a bible into school once. It’s Hate Literature.”
Sylvester nods sagely. “Unregistered bibles are illegal.” He reaches over the table and picks it up without any hesitation whatsoever. He flicks through it and frowns.
“Unregistered.” He says. “Registered Bibles have several dozen passages removed and an official stamp.”
“That’s your name.” I remind him. “In the front.”
“Well, so it is. There’s a thing. Where did you find it, if you don’t mind my asking?” He smiles at me, a kind, friendly smile.
“It was hidden.”
“I can understand why. Would you like me to get rid of this for you?”
“Isn’t it yours?”
“No. I’ve never seen it before in my life.”
“Then why’s your name in it?” He must be lying, he’s probably ashamed of owning something so hate-filled. I would be. I felt ashamed even carrying it in my pocket. Suddenly I can’t bear the idea of having it in the house. “I don’t care whose it is.” I decide. “Get rid of it.”
Sylvester gives me a solemn nod and lays it back on the table. “Consider it done. I’m afraid this could get all of us into a lot of trouble.”
Hajjah begins clearing away the coffees, I hover by the door, longing to go yet strangely compelled to stay. I’m pretty freaked out by these events. I seem to lurch from one awful new discovery to another and I don’t know how to get back.
“You should burn it.” I suggest.
Sylvester gives me a long, sad look. “Is that what they teach you in school these days? To burn books? How easily people forget. When I was a boy this world swore it would never again allow Nazis to gain power. Only by the time I was thirty they were trying so hard they’d already become that which they hated and they still haven’t noticed.” He gazes at the little bible in his hands. “This little book was once considered the moral plumbline for western society.”
“And once women didn’t even have the vote.” I snap without meaning to. “Things change.”
“Not always for the better.” Sylvester adds in a maudlin voice. Like he’s lamenting the end of the world.
Hajjah sits down again on one of the chairs and faces me across the room. “What do they actually teach you, about Christianity, at school?”
I shrug. “About the crusades. The Spanish inquisition. The witch trials. About the way you guys hate gay people, that you’re against Same-Sibling marriage and paedophilia. That you used to covert people by force. Turn or burn. Stuff like that.”
“So nothing about the actual belief itself?”
“It’s just silly stuff isn’t it? Anti-science. Creationism.”
Hajjah shakes her head. “You’ve been taught some very twisted ideas.”
That offends me; I feel my fists clench at my sides. “I’ve been taught the truth and people who don’t accept the truth need to just…...just…..” I can’t finish that sentence, because I already know what I sound like.
“Turn or burn?” Sylvester suggests very softly.
Hajjah’s soft eyes soften a little more and she gazes at me without an ounce of hostility. “I’m sorry. Oh dear, this must be frightening for you.”
“Just a bit. Look, I just...I just want to go. It’s been a bad day.” A bad day made worse by the knowledge I now have two dangerous radicals living next door. Do people know? Shouldn’t there be a way to warn others? To keep people like that away from children?
“You know,” Hajjah’s voice is suddenly very gentle. “The thing about persecution, is that nobody ever realises that they’re doing it. They think they’re doing what’s best for society. Sylvester and I, we freely forgive all of those who hate us.”
It’s this, more than anything else Hajjah has said today that really hits me in the gut.
“You’re the ones who hate people!”
“Not agreeing with certain aspects of society is not hatred Elsie. Try to realise that you live in a state that has its own, official belief system and that belief system is heavily evangelised. Everything you believe, everything you think of as right is a religion, and like any adherents to a religion, you unswerving believe it to be the truth, and one day, people will look at you the way they looked at those who ostracised homosexuals or tortured witches.”
I leave without even saying goodbye, thoroughly shaken and feeling more than a little nauseated. Once back home I head straight for Gran’s old-fashione
d drinks cabinet. Three bottles stare back; alcohol is eye-wateringly expensive, but I prefer the effects to taking cannabis or marijuana. Besides, Gran doesn’t buy drugs even though they’re quite cheap compared to other plant-based products.
I take the first bottle with a shaking hand and drink it straight from the neck. I take a second gulp and wince, before starting to gulp the liquid as though I’m guzzling water. Right now I want to be drunk. Completely, out-of-my mind pissed. Then I might be able to pass tonight off as a ridiculous, drunken fantasy. Or better still, I might forget this whole, horrible day ever happened.
~
~ Four ~
Josh
I have a psychiatric appointment at six. Therapy is part of life here, a time for us to speak our minds in a safe environment. I don’t know whether anybody actually does that, speaks his mind. I’ve spent twenty years learning to speak exactly what makes the staff at this Rainbow Centre happy.
Maybe if I say these things enough times, I’ll start to believe them. Mum used to say that was how the media took something unacceptable and made it acceptable, by repeating this is good. This is normal. Everyone approves. Over and over again. I remember how they made Same-Sibling marriage seem completely normal. The media was saturated with it. It’s not hurting anyone, they said, as long as they don’t have biological babies, it’s fine, they said. Love is love, they said, who are we to judge?
So I talk to Geoffrey Tarporley about every subject he suggests.
“Did you enjoy the exploring the mysteries of the occult workshops last week? I notice you weren’t getting very involved? “
I smile and nod and nibble the cookies. “It was very interesting. I prefer to watch and learn.” I say this every time, I prefer to watch and learn. It placates them.
Geoff scribbles something in his notepad.
“What about Sex-Ed? Ms. Chalmers says you weren’t very enthusiastic last week?”
“I had a bad cold, it put me off.”
“Really? Did you see the doctor?”
“It was only a cold.”
“Enough to put you of sex?” He raises a hairy, sceptical eyebrow. “When I was your age the bubonic plague couldn’t have put me off sex.”
I give an amused grunt. I humour Geoff, make him think I’m amused at his jokes and impressed with his anecdotes.
“I’ll try harder this week.”
He nods. “Does anyone in your class take your fancy? Sexually? I can have a room put aside for you if you want?”
I’m about to say no, none of the class do anything for me at all, in fact, they creep me out and always have done, when my mind touches on River and a funny thought jumps into my brain.
If a member of the class asks for some personal time with another member, the other member isn’t allowed to refuse. They don’t have to have sex, but they have to meet and discuss it, a sort of date. It’s considered rude to refuse. It’s an awful policy, plenty of the girls have been raped that way, boys too.
The thing is, the whole unwanted sexual contact thing seems to confuse the staff here. I’ve read about cognitive dissonance, the ability to hold two or more conflicting opinions as truth, and I’ve come to the conclusion this is the underlying problem.
All men are rapists – there’s no such thing as gender – there are more than two genders – gender is a meaningless social construct – don’t you dare assume my gender – frequent sex is healthy and mandatory – non-consensual sex is nothing to make a fuss over, it’s no different from borrowing a pen without asking – unwanted sexual contact is a terrible thing if the victim is a woman – there’s no such thing as gender anyway – but all men are still rapists.
Personally, I think their heads will explode one day.
Anyway, the girls only complain occasionally now, they all realise Mr. Scott gets off on it which is why he likes to ferret out all the details. The boys don’t report it at all. If a boy is sexually assaulted it’s never, ever taken seriously. Like it didn’t happen or it doesn’t matter. I still don’t understand that, especially in a place where we’re all essentially looked upon as equal, gender neutral persons.
I could talk to River. My brain thinks. I could talk to her in a quiet, locked room with no listening ears.
“The new girl, River.” I say, and almost regret it the moment the name falls out of my mouth. Geoff looks thrilled, like he’s just succeeded in teaching an elephant to dance.
“Oh, good for you Skye. Well done. I’ll arrange it for later tonight if you like.”
I nod. I hope she doesn’t hate me for this.
Geoff pulls out his tablet and taps the screen. “I’ll send an email now. I had a session with River earlier, poor thing’s completely repressed. In my professional opinion, a bit of fun with a strapping young man is exactly what she needs to loosen up and start enjoying her life.” He laughs. “I’d have volunteered for the job myself if it wouldn’t be wholly unprofessional.” And gross, I add in my head. Geoff is sixty-two, obese, with a scruffy, white beard and a shirt a size too small that strains over his gut.
He leans forward in his chair and squeezes my knee. “You’re making progress Skye.”
“Thanks.”
“I was thinking of putting your name up for possible week-end release soon.”
He keeps his hot hand on my knee, I resist kicking it away.
“Would you like that?” Would I like that? Is Geoff Tarporley a raging pervert? Of course I’d like that. It just depends on what Geoff wants in return.
“Yes.”
“Well, you could sound a little more enthusiastic. That’s your problem Skye, you’re not enthusiastic about life. That’s part of the point of the Rainbow Centres, to help children raised in disadvantaged home to fully embrace their lives, their sexuality, their freedom.”
I nod again. I’m not a child. I’m twenty-nine. “Uh huh.” Hopefully, the staff here just think I’m reserved. Being reserved isn’t a crime. Though it can be. When Same-Sibling relationships were in the news, those against them weren’t allowed to quietly disapprove. That was considered silent hatred. We were all expected to celebrate this new-found love, no exceptions.
Geoff stands up. His office is small and hot. His hobby is collecting twentieth century porn and there’s always a magazine or two on the coffee table.
I stand up to move away from his hands and pick up my bag. Geoff gets the hint and leans back in his chair.
“Week-end release is a huge step towards building a life outside the Rainbow Centre Skye. I suggest you work towards it.”
“I will. Thanks.” Something on his tablet beeps and his eyes pass over the screen. “And you and River are booked into room 6a at eight O clock tonight. Enjoy yourselves.”
I wander out into the corridor and nod to Geoff’s next client. I think I want some fresh air before I meet River. The gardens here are overgrown, even tinder-dry there are a lot of tough plants that grow all the way to the iron railings, and the old trees remind me of my childhood.
“You!”
River marches up to me, fury in those dark brown eyes, her thin lips set like flint. Before I can even react, the flat of her hand strikes me straight across my face, leaving a red imprint and causing my ears to sing.
“I am not meeting you tonight! I am not sleeping with any man who asks me! Just who the hell do you think you are?” Her chest rises and falls and the veins in her neck stand out where they would be hidden if she had hair.
What do I say? That I just want to talk? She’ll never believe it. People don’t ask other people for Private Time unless they want something. She has every right to be incensed.
“That’s enough of that!” Geoff sweeps out of his office and makes a grab for River’s arm before she can hit me again. “We don’t assault other students here. That’s completely unacceptable!”
“Unacceptable?” River gives a sharp, angry laugh. “What’s unacceptable is the debauchery you encourage! The immorality! The lies you preach! This whole place disgu
sts me! It’s like some sort of sick cult!”
“Violence is utterly prohibited, physical and verbal. This is a safe space for all of you.”
“Except when you can’t make someone think the way you want, then you use violence!”
“Authorised use of corporal punishment is extremely rare here, and always carried out with care and consideration. You simply can’t walk up to someone and hit them.”
Geoff’s right. The rules about violence are draconian considering how sexual assault is sort-of fine behind closed doors. That’s the difference, the behind closed doors bit. If anyone claims to have been attacked and it wasn’t witnessed, then the staff won’t get involved. How can they? If there are two different versions of events then they have to make a choice. If one of those versions is right and the other must be wrong. And right and wrong are not concepts anyone here comprehends.
There was an assault case, a few months ago, and the boy accused hired his own, very expensive lawyer to sue for defamation of his character. The staff were pathetic and let the whole thing drop.
But so much as a tap on the arm, unauthorised and in public, they’re likely to go the whole hog against River, simply because they can. We live in a deeply, deeply violent world and its much easier to prosecute the easy cases. I think it makes people think they still have some sort of justice.
“It’s fine.” I say, resisting the urge to rub my stinging face. “Honestly, it’s okay.”
Geoff gazes at me with those mean eyes in a meaty face. “You have every right to file a complaint.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You ought to Skye. Violence is never right and we’ve worked hard to stamp it out in this country.”
I look into Geoff’s eyes. “Do you really believe that?”
“Of course I do. It’s a fundamental, British principle.”
“Then why has violent crime increased by 46% in the last twenty years? Yet why are there fewer prosecutions for these crimes than ever before?” I like statistics. I read a lot of websites analysing data. All sorts of different data.
