by Rebecca Wait
She considered. It would serve her parents right if he was a rapist. Then the thought of inflicting any more pain on them winded her, and she turned away from the man in sightless misery.
‘What kind of meeting?’ she said.
‘A Bible study group,’ the woman said.
She was glad she had turned her back so they couldn’t see her sneer.
But the man seemed to know, because he said with a laugh in his voice, ‘Yes, yes, you’ve got us. We’re Bible-bashers. But we can just about manage to make a decent hot drink, and we’ll promise not to try and convert you if you’ll only come along and warm up.’
‘I might try and convert you,’ the woman said cheerfully. ‘But I’m not very good at it. I’ve only just joined. So you’re probably safe.’
Confused and rather charmed, she’d agreed. And it became comforting, after a while, to have somewhere to go after school – people who actually worried about her and waited for her. And more than comforting, once it became clear that Nathaniel had chosen her.
He saved me, she had thought at the time. But that wasn’t quite right. Because it had been Thomas, in those early months in the Ark, who’d slowly pulled her out of herself, let her rage and cry when she remembered how Toby died, alone in blood and pain. Thomas’s patience allowed her to be obedient and calm with the others. He’d never reported her, though there had been times when he probably should have. It had been Thomas all along.
Nathaniel said, ‘I ought to have realized you’d let me down. I should have been clear-sighted enough to see you were tainted in the eyes of God.’
The children thing again, Esther thought. She was so tired. She wanted her husband.
‘Aren’t you going to ask for God’s mercy?’ Nathaniel said.
She said, ‘I trust God to give it if He thinks I deserve it.’
This seemed to silence him.
Esther thought how strange it was that he’d wanted her so much once. When she was seventeen, he’d told her she was perfect to him. Follow me, he said, and I will free you. You will never know a love like this. (That part, at least, was true.)
Abruptly, Nathaniel stood up.
‘Because I’m merciful,’ he said, ‘because I’ve always been merciful, according to God’s will, I’ll try to think of a way to save you.’
When he was gone and Seth had returned to take away the chairs, Esther sat down again with her back to the wall. She held her hand to her face where it throbbed and thought of Thomas. Perhaps one day she would see him again, even if not in this lifetime. She thought she understood now, after facing Nathaniel, that he would never come back for her. The strength it would have taken to leave was so great it would be impossible to risk returning. She wished there were some way to let him know she didn’t blame him.
She had always relied on the idea of heaven to ease the fears that came with love, knowing that even after death they would all be reunited in paradise. How did the people of Gehenna love without that hope? But Thomas was barred from heaven now, and she must be too. And perhaps it was better that way; perhaps it meant that in some in-between place, somewhere no one else could reach them, they would find each other again.
4
‘She’s not one of us,’ Nathaniel said. ‘She never has been.’
The rain had taken on a vindictive quality, clattering against the windows as if trying to break the glass.
Stephanie was alert, though it was late at night. The children had been in bed for hours, and it was just the adults gathered in the kitchen. The others, she’d noticed, had been looking frayed over the past few days, as jittery and pale as she must look herself. They couldn’t endure this rain and the prophet’s anger much longer.
‘Can’t we help her back to the true path, prophet?’ Rachael said. ‘Surely you—’
‘It’s too late for that,’ Nathaniel said. ‘She’s infected the Ark with sin, she and Thomas. She doesn’t want to be saved. She’s beyond it now.’
Rachael opened her mouth again, then closed it. Stephanie watched her wearily. She was tired of other people’s weakness, just as she was finally ridding herself of her own. Rachael was too feeble to accept Esther’s wickedness, but too cowardly to argue on her behalf when the others were against her. People like this were useless to the prophet. Stephanie did not want to be useless herself. Sarah, she reminded herself. My name is Sarah.
‘She’s strayed too far,’ Nathaniel said. ‘It hurts me to admit it, but it’s true. She’s against us.’
‘What do we do?’ Joshua said.
Nathaniel shook his head. All at once he appeared subdued. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know if anything can be done. It may be too late for us. Perhaps we can’t be saved either.’
She looked round at the others. Deborah and Rachael had their eyes cast down, as though their repentance on another’s behalf could still persuade God to spare them, but Ruth looked at the prophet and her gaze was hard. Seth and Joshua shifted uncomfortably on their feet.
After a long silence, Seth said, ‘Please, prophet. Tell us what we can do. How can we make the rain stop?’
‘Haven’t I told you I don’t know?’ His anger was sudden and frightening. ‘But tell me now, because it’s best we all know, if anyone will stand in our way when God does reveal His will. Tell me if you’ll stand in our way and prevent us saving the Ark. Will anyone condemn their friends to suffer rather than be saved? Tell me now if this is the case. Tell me if I’m talking about you.’
Silence except for the beat of rain on glass.
‘Do you know what she said about you, Rachael?’ the prophet said. ‘And you, Deborah?’
They shook their heads, slow, bovine.
‘She said you were weak. She said you’d never truly served God or your friends in the Ark because you were too afraid.’
‘It’s not true,’ Deborah whispered, but it wasn’t clear which part she was referring to.
‘Are you going to be weak,’ he asked them, ‘when the time comes?’
‘No, prophet.’
‘What about you, Seth?’
‘No, prophet.’
‘Are you, Joshua?’
‘No, prophet.’
Then he turned to her. ‘If there’s a way to help your friends, will you do it, Sarah?’
‘Yes, prophet.’
‘Have you cast off your old weakness?’
Stephanie was weak, she thought. But not Sarah. ‘I have, prophet.’
‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘We must wait and we must pray.’
Later, when they were alone in her room, he said, ‘I’ve been so proud of you recently, Sarah. You’ve finally given yourself up to the true purpose. You’ve become the person you always should have been.’
‘I’ve done my best,’ she said. ‘I know I still have a long way to go.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ve surpassed my expectations. I sometimes think you’re more of a true follower even than Seth and Joshua, which I never thought I’d say.’
‘Thank you.’ Even if it weren’t true yet, she would make it become true.
‘But I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer like this,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d been able to protect you.’
She was better at holding back the tears now, better at turning her misery outwards, into a cold hard point.
Nathaniel said, ‘Do you know, I sometimes think I’m to blame for not putting more faith in you early on.’ He touched her face. ‘You could always see it, couldn’t you?’
She kept quiet, waiting for more.
‘I don’t think you ever trusted her, did you?’ he said.
She wasn’t sure, she couldn’t remember now.
‘I should have paid more attention,’ Nathaniel said. ‘My love, you saw so much further than the rest of us.’
‘Yes,’ she said. I think I must have done.
The next night, he brought them together in the barn after the children were in bed.
This was a new kind of rain, she thought, as they shiv
ered in the draught from the barn’s loose window. It didn’t sound like it was made of water but of something solid and sharp. Perhaps when they went outside it would cut into their skin. The only light in the barn was the weak glow cast by a single bulb overhead. They huddled together in its pale-orange pool.
‘I’ve prayed long and hard,’ the prophet said. ‘And I’ve finally received an answer. We’re being given a way out. I can admit to you, now we have a way to save ourselves, that I was afraid we were going to be thrown out into Gehenna. Deprived forever of our chance of heaven. But we’re going to be spared – if we do as God asks. The time has come for a cleansing. We must cleanse the evil from our midst, purify the Ark. That is the will of God.’
He turned to Deborah and Rachael. ‘Do you accept the will of God? Will you act in the best interests of your friends?’
‘Yes,’ Deborah said. After a beat of hesitation, Rachael nodded.
The prophet said, ‘That’s all I need from you for the time being. Your role in the cleansing will be minimal. You can go to bed now.’
They left without argument.
Now the prophet addressed the rest of them. ‘Ruth. Joshua. Seth. You three have always been my closest and most faithful followers. And Sarah – ’ his eyes stayed on her a little longer – ‘although you’re the newest here, you’ve earned your place amongst us.’
She was proud to have been chosen to remain. She couldn’t have survived being cast out like Rachael and Deborah.
‘Rachael’s faithful,’ Seth began, but the prophet held up his hand to silence him.
Sarah thought Nathaniel would be angry, but instead he said gently, ‘I know that, Seth. Do you forget that I’ve known Rachael nearly as long as you? Deborah, too. I don’t undervalue them. I love them, and I wouldn’t see any harm come to them. I’m leaving them out because some women have a weakness when it comes to each other. There’s a danger Deborah and Rachael will let tenderness cloud their judgement. There’s no room for uncertainty if we’re going to save the Ark. We’re under attack. Don’t forget this. We are under attack.’
‘We’ll do whatever you ask of us, prophet,’ Ruth murmured.
‘Good,’ Nathaniel said. ‘Let me tell you what’s required of you. We only have one chance to save the Ark now. Its beauty is in its simplicity. God’s not trying to make things difficult for you. I’m not trying to make things difficult for you. The answer was in front of us the whole time, only I was too blinded by misplaced loyalty to see it until it was shown to me.’ He took from his pocket a small Bible, bound in rich blue leather. He opened it carefully and found his place. ‘Let me read to you from Leviticus – no, actually, Seth, I’d like you to read to us. You can hear the words plainly, from one of your own.’ He handed the book over, saying, ‘Chapter 17, verse 11.’
Seth took the book. He read clearly and slowly, ‘For the life of the flesh is in the blood: and I have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your souls: for it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.’
‘It is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul,’ Nathaniel repeated. ‘Do you see?’
It took Sarah a few moments to understand, but then she couldn’t help drawing her breath in sharply.
‘The cleansing will save Esther,’ Nathaniel went on, ‘as well as the rest of us. It’s the only way we have to save her now, the only way to make an atonement for her soul. It’s merciful as well as necessary.’
‘Prophet—’ Seth began, and Nathaniel turned to him, but Seth didn’t seem to know what it was he wanted to say.
‘It’s pure and good,’ Nathaniel said. ‘And so neat, the solution God’s presented to our problem. We will perform the cleansing to save Esther’s soul. We will be saved, and so will she.’
‘Prophet—’ Seth said again.
Nathaniel interrupted him. ‘How long have we known each other, Seth?’
‘Sixteen years,’ Seth said after a pause.
‘And have you trusted me all that time?’ When Seth didn’t reply, Nathaniel reached out and laid his hand on his shoulder. ‘Seth, answer me. Have you trusted me all that time?’
Seth looked him in the face at last. ‘You know I have.’
‘Have I ever led you away from the true path? Have I ever done wrong by you?’
‘No.’
The prophet smiled sadly at him. ‘Don’t deny me now, Seth. Don’t forget that I love you. You’re closer than a brother to me. I know you trust me, but remember that I trust you too. I’d put my life in your hands.’ He gave Seth’s shoulder a small shake. ‘The path of the righteous isn’t always easy. Is it?’
Seth shook his head. There were tears in his eyes.
‘Put your faith in me once more,’ Nathaniel said. ‘I’ll take care of you. Of all of you,’ he added, opening his words out to the rest of them. ‘Seth? Do you believe me? Will you trust me one more time?’
And at last, Seth nodded. The prophet pulled him into an embrace. Held him a few moments, then released him.
Ruth spoke again. ‘When?’
*
She wasn’t surprised to be told that he’d chosen her. In any case, it didn’t matter which of them did it. They would all hold the knife; and none of them would.
Would it be difficult?
She asked him this when they were in bed that night and he said, ‘Not in this case, Sarah. God will support your hand.’
‘What if I can’t do it?’
He looked at her steadily and didn’t answer.
‘What if I do it badly?’
‘You won’t,’ he said. ‘Leave yourself out of this. God will be working through you. They’ll be God’s actions, and all our actions.’
‘Not mine,’ she murmured.
He placed two fingers gently on her neck, then took her hand and placed it where his had been. ‘Can you feel where your pulse beats?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pierce here with the blade. It will be quick and easy, so long as you aren’t frightened by the sight of blood.’
‘Perhaps I am,’ she said.
‘The stream of blood will be beautiful. It will save her and purify us. Do you trust me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you do what God asks of you? What we all need from you?’
Sarah looked at him. Those eyes. She said, ‘Yes.’
5
He’d travelled far but he’d travelled nowhere at all. He’d been so long on the moors that ‘the south’ had become a fantastical place, something out of a story. Now that Thomas found himself there, he was unreal too, all the colour faded from him; he slunk through these southern streets like a ghost.
Supermarkets were the same down south, though the accents were different. He mastered the work easily enough. The big project of the next few weeks would be transitioning a new store layout with their customers, four self-service checkouts introduced in a neat line by the exit. It was not onerous, but Thomas threw himself into the task. The days were much easier. In the evenings, he returned to the small flat he rented above a shop – he would get himself a car, then he could live out of town, in a village perhaps – and sat and thought of her.
He would get himself a car.
He would drive back up there, four or five hours or however long it took. He would get on the road to the moors and rise up into their ragged folds, and then he’d drive onto the track towards the Ark, and eventually he’d pull up outside the two houses. Esther would be waiting for him because she must know – surely she must know – that he would never leave her for long.
He would be firm, this new, unreal Thomas. He would say, ‘I love you and this time I’m not leaving without you. Get in.’ And she would, and he’d bring her back here.
Sometimes he thought about it so hard and for so long that he could actually see it – not in his mind’s eye, but almost as an external reality, so that if someone else were to come into his flat at that moment he believed they would see it too. He and Esther would get a sma
ll house somewhere out of the way, surrounded by fields. Esther would feel safe there. And perhaps they’d find God again, or what they used to mean by God. Perhaps they would be happy.
6
The followers do as they’re bid and bring her in at dawn. It’s still raining when Sarah comes downstairs a little before six, but it’s eased off at some point in the night, lost its fierceness and now it’s simply weather.
Rachael and Deborah have been instructed to stay in their rooms, and then later to go to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Sarah wonders how much they know.
She finds Seth and Joshua waiting by the door of the prayer room. Joshua has his hands in his pockets. Under other circumstances, this stance might look relaxed, but Sarah can see through the fabric of his clothes to the clenched fists.
Seth is shivering. He is not wearing a jumper over his thin shirt.
‘You should put an extra layer on,’ Sarah tells him. She sounds like his wife, she thinks. Rachael should have told him to wear a jumper.
‘The prophet says to wait in the barn,’ Joshua says. ‘We’ll bring her in.’
Sarah goes out into the rain. She has almost forgotten what normal rain is like: this light, effortless drizzle that takes time to soak through her clothes. She wonders what will happen if it stops before they’ve done it. Would it be a sign from God, like the story Nathaniel told her about Abraham and Isaac? Could they just forget the whole thing and go back to bed, get up later and never mention it again? The thought is unexpected. Weakness, always weakness.
In the barn, it’s scarcely lighter than outside. They should have waited till daylight, Sarah thinks, so they wouldn’t be reliant on the single bulb, which illuminates only the small area of floor directly below it.
Ruth is already in there, pacing. She gives Sarah a tight smile. Sarah is wondering where the prophet is when he appears. He stands for a moment, a shadow in the doorway; then comes over, kisses her and wordlessly presses something into her hand. The cool, smooth handle of the knife.
