by Pete Hautman
“You must repent!”
“I tried — I told you.”
“You must try harder.”
“Okay . . . Have you seen my mom?”
“She is well. I saw both her and your sister at Evensong.”
“Can you ask her to talk to Enos? Or Father Grace?
I think for a moment. For me to approach Tobias’s mother would be unseemly. In any case, I doubt that her words would sway Brother Enos.
“You must repent in your heart,” I say. “It is the only way.”
“Screw you, then! Did they send you here just to tell me that?”
“No one sent me. I should not be here at all.” I back away from the window and stand up.
“Jacob, wait!”
I walk away.
The next night, I return to the Pit and hear from within a recording of a call-and-response from Babel Hour:
“And he shall kill the bullock before the Lord . . .”
“And the priests shall bring the blood . . .”
I lie on my belly with my face near the bars. “Tobias!” I whisper.
“And he shall flay the burnt offering . . .”
“And cut it into pieces . . .”
Tobias’s hands grasp the bars.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“Did you repent?”
“I tried. Like I told you, Enos doesn’t believe me. I think he wants me to memorize the Bible first or something. . . . What is this I’m listening to?”
“It is from Leviticus. A call-and-response from Babel Hour.”
“What’s that?”
I explain to him about Babel Hour.
“That’s how you meet girls here?” he says.
“And the sons of Aaron the priest shall put fire upon the altar . . .”
“Yes. It is great fun.”
“Weird,” he says, not in a nasty, disdainful way, but with a sense of amazement.
“How did you meet girls in Limon?” I ask.
“Everywhere. In school, or at the mall. Lots of ways. I met Shelly in Sunday school.”
“Shelly?”
“My girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, I guess. She was cool.”
“Tell me of her.”
He tells me about the girl Shelly, about her long yellow hair, her eyes the color of the sky, her breasts —
“You saw them with your eyes?” I say in wonder.
“Sure. We used to make out all the time.”
“Make out?”
“You know, feel her up and stuff.”
“You touched her body?” The thought of it is shocking and unbearably thrilling. I have hardly dared to imagine such a thing.
“Every inch,” he says. I hear pride, not shame, in his
voice.
We talk for a long time. As the machine plays verses from Exodus, he tells me of girls, of the Internet, of movies and video games and cars and strange foods. He tells me about his father, living in the jungles of Costa Rica, and of his sister’s pregnancy. “She wanted to marry her boyfriend, but he was only seventeen, and then she was going to give up the baby for adoption, but Mom started going to Grace Ministries, and we ended up here.”
I tell him about walking the fence, and hunting deer in the High Forest, and winter storms, and swimming in the ice-cold waters of the Pison.
I tell him about how I met Lynna.
“She sounds cool,” he says, and I wish I had not spoken of her.
I tell him of the Tree.
“You mean like in the Garden of Eden?”
“Yes. Father Grace sometimes calls our land Eden West. The first Garden of Eden was the beginning. Nodd’s gardens will bloom at the End of Days.”
“Huh.” I hear doubt in his voice.
“The Tree grows in the Sacred Heart. It is the reason we are here. When you get out, I will show it to you.”
“If they ever let me out.”
“Do as Enos asks, and you will be freed.”
“And that which remaineth of the flesh . . .”
“And of the bread shall ye burn —”
The recording ends with a loud click. We are startled into silence. After a few seconds, Tobias says, “In the morning Enos starts it up again.”
“I should go,” I say.
“See you tomorrow?”
“I will try,” I say.
The next day, after I deliver my last bundle of sorghum stalks to the press, Brother Enos sends for me. As I enter his office his expression is stern, even for Enos. I fear that Tobias has told him of my visits.
He does not ask me to sit. That is a bad sign. In his hand he holds a scrap of yellow paper. He looks from me to the paper, and back again.
“Brother Jacob, is there anything you wish to confess?” he asks.
His words cut me like a knife; I feel as if my insides are about to spill out onto the floor. It is all I can do to remain standing.
A faint, tight smile compresses Enos’s lips. “I see,” he says.
“I am afraid for him,” I say. “I told him to repent.”
Enos’s brow furrows at that, and I realize that he expected me to say something else.
“Explain yourself,” he says sharply.
“I . . . I went to visit the new boy last night. In the Pit.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I fear for his soul,” I say. It is true, or at least half true. “I feel . . . I feel I am responsible for him being there.”
“How so?”
“I was tasked with showing him our ways. I failed. And now he pays the price.”
“Price? He pays no price. He is being rewarded with salvation.”
“As was Brother Von?”
Enos’s face darkens. I cannot believe that I said what I said.
“Brother Von was possessed. His trespass at Womenshome was but the final straw. The Grace suffered years of Von’s transgressions before that night. We had no alternative but to have Samuel perform an exorcism. The boy Tobias is merely ignorant and undisciplined — as are you.”
He waits for me to respond, but I am too terrified to speak, not knowing what might come out of my treacherous mouth. Brother Enos makes an exasperated sound with his lips, then looks again at the scrap of yellow paper.
“This was discovered by Brother Luke. It was attached to the north fence.” Brother Enos impales me with his raptor eyes and holds out the paper. “Do you know anything about it?”
My stomach goes hollow as I read the scrawled and damning message:
I lie.
I do not know how I do it, but I lie to Brother Enos. I tell him that I know nothing of the note, neither who wrote it nor for whom it was written. He believes me, possibly because I just admitted to visiting Tobias.
“Has Brother Will said anything about meeting a girl?” he asks.
“He has said nothing to me.”
He frowns at the note in his hand. “There is a child named Evelyn who lives on the Rocking K. I imagine this ‘Lynna’ to be her. Have you met anyone on your patrols? Anyone at all?”
“I would have reported it to you.”
“Of course you would. As you reported your visit to the boy Tobias.”
I say nothing.
“You will not visit him again.”
I nod.
“I will bring your transgression to Father Grace. He will assign you penance. G’bless.”
I leave his office on jellied knees, expecting him to call me back at any moment, expecting him to beat me and throw me in the Pit with Tobias, expecting Zerachiel to appear before me wielding his sword of flame, to send me spinning headless into the Void.
My fears are not realized; I am left only with my shame.
I do not have long to wait to receive my penance. Brother Jerome delivers an envelope to me at supper. Inside is a short note. There is to be no beating, no public confession, no shaming, no examination of my soul. I suspect that Father Grace does not wish Tobias’s incarceration to be on the minds of
all the Grace.
Instead, I am to kneel before the Tree at last light and pray aloud until the sun once again strikes its topmost branches.
You will speak of this to no one but the Lord, the note ends, followed by Enos’s spiky signature.
I pray for Tobias; I pray for my own sullied soul.
Does the Lord hear me, or am I truly alone here? My knees are on fire, the cold seeps into my body through every pore, the leaves of the Tree shift and rustle in the wind. Through the branches I see the new moon, rising up over the high hedge that protects the Sacred Heart.
My voice, raspy and weak, is swallowed by the night.
I pray for redemption, I pray for forgiveness, I pray for the Ark to come. I pray for rain, that I might tip my head back and let the drops flow down my parched throat. I pray for all the sinners of the World, I pray for Von, I pray for dawn. It must be well past midnight when I hear soft footsteps behind me. I continue to pray as the footsteps draw closer, then stop.
“Brother Jacob.” The voice is high, soft, and familiar; I feel my heart clench.
“Father?” I have spoken privately to Father Grace only once before, on the day I was made a Cherub.
He seats himself on the wall. I keep my eyes upon the Tree, grateful that I do not have to look into his eye.
“Your prayers are strong,” he says. “I have been listening.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Your concern for the new boy does you credit.”
“It was wrong of me to go to him.”
“Many sins are born of good intentions.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Enos and Peter praise your industry and dedication.”
I bow my head. “That is good to hear.”
“The boy will remain, for a time, in the Praying Pit.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Yet I sense you question the need of it.”
“I am sorry,” I say miserably, knowing he can read my heart.
“The fact is, young Jacob, there is a storm brewing in Helena, where the politicians weave their wicked webs. The World beats at our gate. Those who would see the Grace sundered and scattered are amassing. We must stand together if we are to survive. We must speak with one voice. Our Faith is our future. We must be as one.”
I do not understand what Father Grace is telling me. He senses this, and continues.
“They will descend upon us — the politicians, the police, the media. They come in hopes of destroying us. We must present a unified front.”
“Why should we allow them in at all?” I ask.
“If we do not open our gates to them, they threaten to take us by force.”
“Why?”
“They twist their Worldly laws to advance their dark agenda. They say we harbor weapons, that we abuse our children, that we are evil upon this land.”
“That is not true!” I say.
“Truth is nothing to such people. Still, if we stand together, they have no power. The boy Tobias is an unknown quantity; I fear he will tell lies about us. He must remain in confinement until he understands the error of his ways.”
“He repented to Brother Enos,” I hear myself say in a small voice.
Father Grace does not reply immediately, then his hand cups my shoulder and squeezes gently. It is warm; I feel his heat radiating from my shoulder into my core.
“You have a good heart, Jacob. Would that all men felt such love of their fellows. Do not worry about the boy. He will not be harmed.”
“How long must he stay there?” I ask.
“Only until his heart becomes whole.” As he speaks the words, I know them to be true, and my own heart swells with gratitude.
“Yes, Father.”
He lifts his hand from my shoulder, and I feel the
loss of it.
“When the Ark comes, you will be welcomed by Zerachiel with open arms. Repeat the Arbor Prayer three times, then return to your cell and sleep well. May the Lord be with you always.” Father Grace stands. “G’bless.”
I hear his footsteps receding.
I speak the Arbor Prayer.
The next day, Father Grace calls a Convocation. As we gather, there is much whispering. No one seems to know why we are meeting. I suspect that Father Grace is going to tell us of the impending visit from the Worldly folk, but I am wrong.
The Convocation begins with Elder Abraham leading us in the Prayer of Joining. This is a hopeful sign, for it is the prayer used for espousals, baptisms, and the elevation of Cherubim. Father Grace, his wives, and his girl children are seated beside the pulpit. Von is seated with the congregation, picking at his nose while staring blankly into space. I search the Sisters’ side of the hall for Sister Ruth, but I cannot see her.
After the prayer, Father Grace rises.
“Brethren, I have joyful news. The Lord has spoken to me, and He has told me that I am to take a new wife, and she is to bear me a son.”
A murmur ripples through the congregation. This is good news indeed, for although Father Grace loves and treasures his girl children, we all know that he desires a boy child above all else. I look at Von’s vacant face. Does he comprehend any of this? Father Grace’s three wives sit beside him with their faces carefully composed. I turn my attention to the unmarried women, wondering who it will be. Could it be Sister Judith, Tobias’s mother? Is she young enough to bear another child? Perhaps it will be Olivia or Louise, who have waited longest to be betrothed.
Father Grace spreads his arms wide and speaks a prayer of thanks, then extends one hand toward the congregation. One of the Sisters stands and climbs the three steps to kneel before Father Grace. She rises and embraces him, then turns to face us.
It is Sister Ruth.
My ears are filled with a soundless roar as Father Grace’s wives gather to embrace their newest member. I tear my eyes away and see my mother looking at me from across the aisle, her face soft with pity. I squeeze my eyes closed. I tell myself to breathe. I feel a touch on my shoulder. It is Will, who knows of my feelings for Ruth. I shrug off his hand. I want to run from the hall, to take myself across the field to the Spine, to follow Sister Salah into the gorge.
Somehow, I do not. I remain, I sit, and I pray. I push the pain and fury and shame into a hard knot and hold it suspended, a bag of broken granite dangling in place of my heart.
As the Convocation draws to a close, I sense Will’s worried looks, but I keep my face still as frozen water. Father Grace descends and walks down the aisle, followed by his wives: Marianne, Juliette, Fara . . . and now Ruth. I fix my eyes upon her as she passes. She does not look at me, but the prideful, smug, self-satisfied curve of her lips tells me more than I wish to know.
Back at Menshome I retire to my cell and am left alone, as alone as Tobias in the Pit. I lie curled on my pallet, waiting in vain for sleep to take me. I keep seeing Ruth’s face as she paraded down the aisle with the wives. I meant nothing to her. I am embarrassed, I am ashamed, I am furious, but most of all I feel powerless. There is nothing I can do to undo that which is done. They are wed. They were wed the moment Father Grace declared it to be so; such is our custom.
As my thoughts swirl and begin to cohere, I realize that my desire for Ruth, so strongly felt for so many years, has left me. She is not who I thought her to be. The thought of touching her now repels me, and so I turn my anger upon myself, for it was I who allowed myself to care for her.
Sleep does not come. It is well past midnight when I rise and walk outside. I move through the darkness to the Tower and press my face to the barred window of the Pit. It is silent inside: no recording, no snoring, no sound at all. I call out for Tobias. Nothing. I gather a handful of pebbles, reach through the bars, and toss them toward the pallet where he sleeps. No response. I call out again. I throw more pebbles.
Nothing.
Tobias is gone.
Their spirit is full of lust, that they may be punished in their body.
— Enoch 67:8
I am
awakened by Brother Jerome standing in the doorway to my cell, poking me with the handle of a broom.
“Brother,” he says.
I open one eye. It is still dark outside. I swat away the broom handle.
“Brother, it is fourth Landay.”
Fourth Landay? I sit up, rubbing my eyes.
“It cannot be,” I say.
“It is. You patrol today.”
I groan. I must have slept, but it could not have been for long. Thoughts of Tobias and Ruth and Father Grace kept me up most of the night, and now I am faced with a daylong walk.
“Brother Gregory has reported a breach in the north-central section,” Jerome says. Gregory has taken Will’s edge-walking duties while Will waits for his knee to heal.
“Why then did Gregory not repair it himself?” I ask.
“He was not equipped. You will need a shovel. Do not delay. There is weather coming.”
Ordinarily I welcome the walk, but the events of last night weigh upon me so heavily that I fear I will be unable to bear them as I make my solitary trek. I consider going to Enos and telling him I am ill. Would he believe me? I do not think so. With leaden movements, I dress and prepare my backpack: wire, wire cutters, a folding shovel, and other fence-maintenance items. I take a thick slice of soda bread, a wedge of hard cheese, and a honeyed seedcake. I fill my water bottle. I fetch a carbine from the arms locker.
By the time I hoist my pack onto my shoulders, the Cherubim are stirring, and I am suddenly glad to be leaving. I do not need their morning banter and their pitying looks, and the eastern sky is brightening with the promise of day.
The borders of Nodd may be walked in many ways. The usual route is to take the road to the North Gate, then follow the fence east or west, depending on wind and whim. Sometimes I follow the trail through the High Meadow past Shepherd’s Rock to the fence, a slightly longer but more pleasant route. Today I choose to head west, up the Spine to the Pison, then north along the edge of the gorge and down into the Mire. The land drops quickly. The rocky trail becomes green and moist, and soon I am at a level with the Pison where the river mingles with the Mire, becoming indefinite, sending fingers of water into a vast, boggy cedar swamp. When the water is high, as it often is in the spring, the bank of the river disappears completely, and one must pick one’s way through the tangled morass, leaping from mossy rock to mossy tussock, walking along the trunks of fallen trees, finding shallow ridges of firmer ground, and occasionally sinking a foot deep into the bog. I have on more than one occasion found myself wet to the hip, struggling to free myself from the sucking peat.
