The Followers

by Rebecca Wait

  Esther slapped Thomas again, harder, and this time his head snapped sideways. Esther began to sob, a strange harsh sound. Crying louder, she lifted her hand and held it there, but couldn’t seem to bring it down a third time. Moses saw Thomas raise his head slightly and murmur something to her, but he couldn’t hear what it was. Esther slapped him again, and then again, as hard as she could, so the noise rang out through the barn like the crack of a tree branch. When she’d finished, Thomas’s lip was bleeding. His head hung down on his chest. Esther stepped back, shoulders heaving.

  There was a long silence, broken only by Esther’s dry gasps.

  The prophet said at length, ‘The will of God is not always comfortable for us. It doesn’t always suit our own desires. Well done, Esther, for serving Him.’

  Esther went back to her place alongside the other women. Deborah placed a hand on her back and said something in her ear.

  The prophet turned back to Thomas. ‘You’ve taken your punishment well, Thomas. I absolve you.’ When Thomas didn’t respond, the prophet put his hand under Thomas’s chin and raised his head so he could look into his face. ‘Let this be an end to it, yes?’

  Thomas gave a small, exhausted nod.

  ‘Rejoin your brothers, then.’

  Thomas got shakily to his feet and went to stand with Joshua and Moses’ father. They didn’t look at one another.

  The prophet said, directing his words at all of them, ‘Did you not come to me, all of you, looking for answers? Will you then turn away from the answers I’ve given you?’ He looked round at them. ‘Give yourselves up,’ he said. ‘Give yourselves up to God and He will save you.’

  ‘We do,’ Ruth said. ‘We give ourselves up!’

  They all murmured it after her. Moses tried to find reassurance in the familiar words.

  ‘Now,’ the prophet said. ‘Judith.’

  All eyes went to Judith, who was still sitting on her chair in the middle, her hands folded in her lap. She had winced and closed her eyes whilst Thomas was receiving his punishment, but now she looked up again.

  Judith’s mother had been crying quietly the whole time. Now she stepped forward as though she might speak. The prophet turned to her and shook his head, but Judith’s mother didn’t step back. She was clasping her hands in front of her, staring at the prophet’s face.

  The prophet said, as though she’d asked him something, ‘This is her first session. God will be merciful.’

  When she carried on standing there, as though she’d been fixed in place, the prophet said, ‘I’ve asked you to trust me. Can you do that?’

  Judith’s mother looked at Judith again, and finally gave a small nod. Ruth reached out and took hold of her elbow, forcing her to step back into the line of women.

  Moses was trying to work out what they would do to Judith. He wanted to unravel time and go back, to prevent her sin or hide it so she wouldn’t have to be punished. But the wish to hide it, he knew, was a sin in itself. His thoughts were a tangle.

  The prophet turned towards Judith very slowly. He said, ‘Are you afraid of hell, Judith?’

  Moses silently urged her to say yes, but he already knew she wouldn’t. At least she didn’t shake her head, though. That was something.

  The prophet carried on as though she’d given a response. ‘You should be. It’s where you’ll end up if you listen to the whisperings of the devil, like you did when you tried to leave the safety of the Ark.’

  Judith muttered something.

  ‘What?’

  She repeated it, more loudly. ‘I was just going for a walk.’

  ‘Liar!’ He spun round to Ruth. ‘Ruth, remind us what happens if someone puts the Ark at risk through their sin.’

  Ruth said steadily, ‘Their blood shall be upon them.’

  Moses closed his eyes and begged God that Judith wouldn’t be badly hurt.

  ‘Do you think there won’t be consequences for your behaviour?’ the prophet said. ‘Do you think we harbour sinners in the Ark?’

  Judith remained silent. Speak, Moses thought. Please speak.

  Eventually: ‘No,’ said Judith.

  The prophet said, ‘I’m moved to mercy today. You’re very young, and you haven’t been with us long, whereas you’ve been amongst sinners your whole life. God reminds me that someone may not be saved at a single blow.’ His voice became low like when he was leading the prayer meetings: soft and soothing. It floated up and down like music, so that sometimes you could almost forget that what he was saying was frightening. ‘Judith, there are things you need to learn if you’re not going to give way to the devil and put us all at risk. You have to learn to stamp out your wicked thoughts. You have to learn to close down your mind when the devil seeks to enter. It’s our only defence against him.’

  He was quiet for a moment, meeting their eyes one after another. He stopped at Peter. ‘Peter, what does God tell us in the book of Genesis?’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Moses saw his brother stiffen. Peter said, ‘The imagination of man’s heart is evil from his youth.’

  ‘Yes,’ the prophet said. ‘The imagination is evil. Your thoughts are wicked from the day you are born. And where does the root of that wickedness lie? In our first parents, Adam and Eve.’ He was addressing all of them now. ‘Our first parents, unlike us, were free from sin. Until, that is, they gave the devil a way in, allowed him to foster in them his own wicked thoughts and vicious jealousy. Satan brought them challenge and rebellion. Satan taught them to think and act against the Spirit. He taught them to question and to whisper.

  ‘In eating the fruit, Eve showed that she had strayed from the true path, just as you’ve strayed, Judith.’ He had turned back to her now, and Moses saw her sit up a little straighter, as if readying herself once more for battle. ‘Eve elevated her own independent will above the will of God. In doing this, she brought ruin on us all – just as you, Judith, risk doing now. Never again will humankind be pure and free from sin as Adam and Eve once were. Instead we are constantly vulnerable to the devil. Constantly vulnerable to attack. Only those who are truly prepared to fight the devil on all fronts, to fill themselves with the Spirit – only those people will be saved. Remember the mark placed on one of us, as a reminder for all of us.’

  Moses put his hand to his face, feeling the bad side burn. But nobody turned towards him, because they were still staring at the prophet.

  ‘Do not give the devil a way in,’ the prophet said. ‘When you struggle, turn to the prayers I’ve given you, your spiritual armour.’ Suddenly, he shouted. ‘No, Satan, I refuse you!’

  Moses felt a jolt go through him. He tried to hold himself still.

  ‘Repeat it, Judith,’ the prophet said. When she didn’t speak, he said again, ‘Repeat it. Or you’ll never be forgiven.’

  ‘Judith,’ her mother said. ‘Please say it.’

  Still Judith didn’t speak. Moses thought if she were hit he would feel the pain in his own face. He kept his eyes on Judith’s face, willing her to look at him.

  Then she did glance up and their eyes met. He knew he must look desperate. Hoping no one else could see, he gave her the smallest of nods. No response registered on Judith’s face. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then he noticed her lips were moving.

  ‘Speak up,’ Ruth said.

  Judith said softly, ‘Satan, I refuse you.’

  The prophet seemed to grow taller. ‘Again.’

  ‘Satan, I refuse you.’

  ‘Again.’

  ‘Satan, I refuse you.’

  Judith’s voice grew stronger each time. By the tenth time, she was close to shouting. Finally, the prophet seemed satisfied. He said, ‘Remember how kindly you’ve been dealt with this time. Don’t make the same mistake again. Next time, Judith, you’ll be mercilessly corrected.’

  A nod from the prophet, and with a burst of relief they realized the session was over. The air seemed to change in the barn. People were shaking themselves, as though they’d woken from sleep, and smilin
g at one another as if to say, Good morning. Moses watched the others moving around him and thought for the first time how strange it was they could be still and terrified one moment, and then seem to forget it all the next. Everyone had begun to file out of the barn, but Moses stayed where he was. Judith hadn’t moved from the chair. She was staring down at her lap again.

  Judith’s mother went up to her. ‘See, love?’ she said. ‘It feels better now, doesn’t it?’

  Judith wouldn’t reply, nor even look at her.

  The prophet gestured towards Judith’s mother and she placed her hand quickly on Judith’s shoulder, then took it away again and followed him out of the barn.

  Moses bent down and pretended to tie his shoelace in case anyone asked him why he was waiting around. Most of the others were gone now. Peter paused next to him.

  ‘Coming to play Jericho?’ he said.

  It was a rare thing for him to ask. He was usually nicer to Moses after a session. But Moses shook his head.

  ‘Don’t feel like it.’

  ‘You should leave her alone,’ Peter said. Peter, the mind-reader.

  Moses did a Judith-shrug.

  At last, he and Judith were by themselves. He wasn’t sure how long she was going to sit in the chair without saying anything, so he sat down where he was on the floor and waited.

  Eventually, Judith raised her head. She said, ‘Don’t you want to run off like the others? I’m wicked, aren’t I?’

  ‘You’re not wicked,’ Moses said. ‘You’re my friend.’

  Judith got to her feet and headed for the door. He wondered if she was going to go off and leave him there, sitting cross-legged in the dirt, but at the last moment she paused, and turned around.

  ‘Coming?’

  He sprang up and followed her.

  By unspoken agreement, they went to the forest, bending down to push through the branches at the edge, and not pausing until they’d reached their usual clearing.

  Standing with her hands in the pockets of her dress, Judith said, ‘I only said what he wanted me to say because of you. I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘You probably did really.’

  ‘I didn’t. You made me say it.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want you to be hit.’

  ‘I’d rather have been hit,’ she said fiercely. ‘Rather have been hit. At least then all the nastiness is on the outside, not hidden away in words.’

  He couldn’t follow what she was saying. ‘It was to save you,’ he said. ‘The words. To keep the devil away.’

  She glared at him for a few moments, then her legs seemed to go from under her. She sat down on a tree stump and began to cry.

  Moses hovered, unsure how to comfort her.

  She rubbed her hands roughly into her eyes. ‘Stop watching me,’ she said in a small, jerky voice. ‘It’s weird how you’re always watching me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Moses said. He tried to look away. ‘Don’t cry. God loves you,’ he added in a burst of inspiration. ‘One day we’ll be in heaven together.’

  ‘Shut up,’ she said through her tears.

  ‘We will.’

  ‘If he’s there,’ she said, ‘then I’m not going anywhere near it.’

  He wasn’t sure what to say to this. He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t go without her, but he didn’t think you got to choose. But perhaps he wouldn’t be welcome there anyway.

  Judith said, ‘One day, I really will escape. I’ll make it to the town, and I’ll go and live with Megan and her mum and dad. And my mum will come and beg me to talk to her, but I won’t. I’ll ignore her. I’ll never speak to her again as long as I live.’

  She was crying harder now. Moses sat down on the ground beside her. He said again, ‘Don’t cry.’

  She ignored him.

  He said, ‘If you stop crying, I’ll tell you why my face is like this.’

  She gulped and took some deep breaths. ‘Is it a good story?’

  ‘It’s a sad one.’

  She put her palms to her face and spread out her fingers, stroking her eyebrows as if to calm herself. After a few moments, she said shakily, ‘Alright. I’ve stopped.’

  He took a breath, wondered where to begin. ‘Everyone knows the story of my birth,’ he said. ‘It gets told as a warning. If my mother strays from God’s path, she’s reminded of it. It makes her cry. It’s not just important for her, though. It’s important for everyone, because nobody is safe from the devil.’ He stopped, and Judith leaned forward a little.

  ‘So? What happened?’

  Moses said, ‘My brother Peter was the first baby born in the Ark. It was a blessing, but we have to pass through fire to be purified. It was a difficult birth. It went on a long time and there was a lot of blood. They thought my mother might die, but she didn’t, and nor did my brother Peter.’

  ‘I know what he’s called,’ Judith said. ‘And I know he’s your brother. You don’t have to keep saying it.’

  Moses decided to ignore this. ‘So when more than a year had passed and my mother found out she was going to have another baby – that was me – she became afraid. And the fear made her stumble from God’s path. She lost faith, and she looked to the devil for help. She begged my father to take her out into Gehenna, to a hospital, which is where the sinners try to look after each other.’

  ‘I know what a hospital is.’

  ‘She told my father that otherwise the baby might die, or she might die. My father was worried, and he went to the prophet. The prophet said he wouldn’t stop my father from taking my mother to a hospital in Gehenna, but if he did, neither of them could ever return. And they would no longer be saved, and they wouldn’t be taken up to heaven when the end times came. So then my father faced a terrible decision, because he loved my mother, but my mother wanted to leave.’ He paused. He was relieved Judith had stopped crying, but the story was making the dread creep up from his stomach and settle high in his chest.

  Judith said, ‘So why did they stay?’

  He made himself go on. ‘They took too long to decide, and then the baby – me – came early and there was no time to go to Gehenna. And it was shown that it was just the devil whispering to my mother all along, because she didn’t die, and neither did I. But as punishment for my mother’s lack of faith, I was born with this mark on my face. And I will always be more vulnerable to the devil, because God let the devil mark me the day I was born, as a reminder of what happens if you turn away from God.’

  A long silence after he’d finished. Moses was beginning to regret telling her, because now she would be scared of his mark like all the others.

  Then Judith said, ‘I think that’s a stupid story.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s only a birthmark on your face. Surely if the devil wanted to mark you he would have given you something way worse. Like – an extra arm, or horns coming out of your head.’

  Moses paused briefly to consider this. ‘You mustn’t question.’

  ‘I’m just saying. If it’s meant to be a curse, it’s not that bad.’

  ‘It’s not about what it is. It’s about what it stands for.’ But she didn’t seem frightened. And now he’d told her, he thought, they really were friends.

  Abruptly, Judith said, ‘What shall we play? David and Goliath?’

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘I’ll be Goliath.’

  ‘But you never die when you’re supposed to,’ Moses said. ‘You always end up killing David.’

  Judith shrugged. Moses sighed and resigned himself to a bloody end.

  After

  She was horribly at home in prisons these days, Judith thought; the officers had come to feel like old friends. Not that they seemed to view it this way. Today, she flashed the woman conducting the search her most winning smile. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’

  The officer paused, a pained expression on her face, then continued as if Judith hadn’t spoken.

  Judith said, ‘I didn’t bring you a snack this time. You’ll h
ave to wait till lunch.’

  The officer ignored her.

  Oh God, Judith thought. She’d been responsible this time, had taken nothing on the train except an aspirin for her headache. But now it occurred to her that an unmedicated Judith might actually be worse.

  She wondered if Moses ever visited prison. He’d never mentioned it.

  Sitting across from her mother once more, she struggled to think of some words she could say, any words, to fill the empty space before she could leave.

  ‘I watched Brief Encounter a couple of nights ago,’ she tried. Seeing Stephanie’s surprise, she added, ‘Gran’s choice. To get me back for Cloud Atlas.’

  ‘I remember watching that with her as well when I was young.’

  ‘I think it’s her favourite film,’ Judith said. ‘Or possibly the only film she’s ever liked. She says it’s good to see people on film who still have some sense of duty.’

  ‘I never liked the ending much,’ her mother said.

  ‘They did the right thing,’ Judith said.

  ‘But they would have been happier if they didn’t.’

  ‘That’s not the point, though, is it?’

  There was a brief pause, then her mother said, ‘You know, she’ll be making you watch Casablanca next.’

  ‘That’s scheduled for next week.’

  They smiled at each other; a moment that warmed and then unsettled Judith.

  Her mother said, ‘How’s your job going?’

  Judith had told her once – inexplicably – that she was working in a library. ‘Oh – well, I’ve decided to move on. Try something new.’

  ‘You could do anything,’ Stephanie said. ‘You’re so bright.’

  Judith didn’t respond to this.

  ‘You have a degree,’ her mother added.

  To her mother, a degree was a golden ticket. For Judith, this hadn’t turned out to be the case. Her life had become an exercise in muddling through. She had started out studying Psychology at university, thinking that now, at last, the past might spill its secrets. But the course had been a huge disappointment. Within a term, she had switched to Social Anthropology. She wrote her third-year dissertation on the group mentality of Jeffrey Lundgren’s Kirtland Temple cult. It was interesting, but it didn’t help, not in the long run. She’d been lost in a haze most of the time, in any case: black coffee in the mornings, ketamine in the evenings; bright enough to get a 2:1 without breaking much of a sweat, arrogant enough to know it.