Children of Paradise: A Novel (9 page)

—Yes.

—So how can there be a doubter in our midst, a skeptic, who does not see these obvious truths, a cynic who thinks these precepts are mere tricks of the mind and not facts of life. What do we live by and what must we die by? Repeat after me. Strictures of the Scripture.

—Strictures of the Scripture.

—These are not man-made rules like the signs around the compound devised for your physical safety. The strictures of the Scripture are for your spiritual security. What are they for?

—Spiritual security.

—And the spiritual dictates the physical. No matter how challenging the physical may appear to be. So ask yourselves this question every day in your hard work, what is the most challenging plane of existence? And answer unequivocally. The spiritual, not the physical. Repeat.

—The spiritual, not the physical.

He hoists up his trousers with both hands, pulls a pressed handkerchief from his back pocket, and mops his brow. Keeping a firm grip on the handkerchief, he sets his thumbed black Bible on the dais next to the high chair and picks up the microphone and resumes.

—We delude ourselves when we pursue comfort and believe our bodies rule our lives. We neglect the more important spiritual plane when we get caught up in gathering around us the comforts and luxuries of physical life. But we are not trained to believe in the spiritual plane of existence. And we are not trained to think that a spiritual assertion is profitable or more important than the physical. We think if we are hungry, that is the most important thing, and we start to dream about banquets, don’t we? We picture tables of food and goblets of wine. But if, instead of the belly, we pictured the mind and then the spirit, we would not be hungry. If, after a large meal, there is still something missing in us, we know that thing must be some quality that no number of banquets can satisfy. Are you with me?

—Yes.

—I think our banquet is God’s Holy Scripture. We are put here to feed on His guidance, and our reward is everlasting life. What is our reward?

—Everlasting life.

—Now, here is a practical lesson tonight for all to see what I mean by food of the spirit over and above food of the body. Who am I to you? Am I not a messenger of God?

—Yes, Father.

—Am I not among you to bring to you the message of God?

—Yes, Father.

—I come to you with God’s word, unadulterated and unexpurgated, two big words, but they mean unedited and not tampered with by inferior human hubris, another big word, meaning human presumption. Will you accept God’s words, big or small, given to me from God directly?

—Yes, Father.

—Tonight’s practical lesson is about trust. I come to you as God’s messenger, and throughout history, God has sent many messengers, and we know what an unready and ignorant humanity did to those messengers, right?

—Right, Father.

—They killed the messengers but not the message. Repeat.

—They killed the messengers but not the message.

—Tonight’s practical lesson is about trust. You trust me.

—Yes, Father.

—You believe in me?

—Yes, Father.

—But still I say to you that there are doubters, skeptics, and cynics among you, even after I delivered you from hell on earth to a paradise on earth that is a shadow of the real one waiting for us all. Even after all this, there remain doubters and skeptics and cynics among you.

—No, no, no.

—Yes, even after I plucked you from degradation and transported you across the sea to a place that is an Eden on earth but only a morsel of the feast that awaits you in heaven. Even after all that, you doubt me.

—No, no, no.

—Yes. Among you. Sitting right beside you. You know deep in your hearts about that doubt. I do not have to point you out in the crowd. You know who you are, and God knows who you are, and if God knows and I am His messenger, then I know who you are. But do not be afraid. Our God is a loving God. Tonight’s lesson is about what?

—Trust, Father.

—Yes. If you trust in me, I will make you what?

—Fishers of men.

—And what will be your reward?

—Everlasting life.

—Yes, everlasting life. And that is a long time, isn’t it.

—Yes, Father.

—Try to imagine eternity. You cannot. Not in your limited body. How can you? You live on a physical plane, and eternity is about the spirit and about time without end. Do not blame yourself that you doubt, but blame yourself if you do not trust me, after all I have done for you and shown you to be the evidence of God’s work. Right?

—Right.

—What an evening, my brethren. What heat.

The preacher beckons to an assistant and exchanges his soaked handkerchief for a hand towel.

—What heat and what promise. The Lord’s work may be difficult, but it is never in vain.

He gestures to Trina and Joyce to approach him. They move quickly from the front row up onto the stage. He motions for them to come closer and stand next to him.

—I don’t bite. Ladies and gentlemen, tell them to come closer.

The audience shouts at Joyce and Trina to move closer to the preacher. The shouts are half playful and half in anger. He asks Joyce and Trina to say their names into the microphone, even though everyone knows them. He pushes the microphone close to their lips.

—Trina, Father.

—Trina. Indeed. Who does not know Trina! Our miracle child.

He nods at Joyce to speak into the microphone.

—Joyce, Father.

He says there is no greater trust than between a mother and her daughter, since the mother brought the daughter into the world and serves as her mentor and spiritual guide until the daughter can fend for herself in a harsh world. The congregation murmurs its assent, and all gaze at Trina and her mother in anticipation of their central role in some lesson based on trust.

The way the congregation concentrates on mother and daughter, looking at the two with a variety of open mouths, raised eyebrows, and widened eyes, makes it clear that people believe Joyce and Trina are the two doubters-skeptics-cynics. Joyce looks bewildered. She is about to be tested, and she trembles, not for herself but because Trina is a part of the experiment. Joyce glances around and keeps her arm on Trina’s shoulders. Trina leans against Joyce and fights a strong impulse to burst into tears. She cannot think what she might have done wrong. She played her part as instructed and rehearsed. She breathed nothing of it to anyone, as promised. She waited like an obedient corpse for the right touch and the key words from Father before she opened her eyes, even though she was thirsty and tired from holding the one posture of stillness and barely inhaled and exhaled to hide the fact of her life.

Trina remembers her resurrection by the preacher in front of Adam’s cage. Immediately after Adam drops her to the ground, Trina experiences a metamorphosis in the hands of the commune’s leadership. First, the guards scoop her off the damp earth, and Trina regains consciousness as they carry her to the infirmary. Second, the nurses and guards form a screen around her. She begs for her mother. And third, one of the nurses fires an order at Trina:

—Be quiet. Go back to sleep.

Trina flops in the guard’s arms. She wants to see her mother but knows it is foolish to disobey a direct order from a nurse or guard or prefect. In a room in the infirmary, a nurse takes Trina’s pulse and listens to her heart and asks her to breathe in deep and hold it. The nurse taps Trina’s back and chest and left and right sides.

—And exhale.

The nurse asks if any of it hurts. Trina says she is a little sore in places. The doctor walks in, and the nurse reports to him that Trina is as good as new. But he goes ahead and shines a small torch into Trina’s eyes and makes her open her mouth wide and say ah. As he pokes at the back of her tongue with a small flat stick, he asks Trina her age. She gags.

—Ten, Doctor.

—Good.

The doctor asks the nurse to come with him to help with the patients, and both leave the room. Trina remains sitting on a small table with two guards and two of the preacher’s personal assistants, Dee and Pat, around her. The preacher walks in with a retinue of helpers and everyone comes to attention, not like soldiers do, but from slouching and looking relaxed one moment, they switch to a springiness coupled with the jitters. The preacher walks up to Trina and ruffles her hair and says he needs her to do something very important for him and for everyone at the mission. He assures her she will be fine. She should not worry about anything. Her mother is fine, too, and will be along soon.

—Will you help to do God’s work, Trina?

—Yes, Father. Anything, Father.

He explains to her about what will happen next to convert her into a beautiful corpse, and all she has to do is play along, but she must never speak to anyone about it. For her obedience and cooperation, she and her mother will gain many enviable privileges.

—Will you be my little disciple?

—Yes, Father. Yes.

—Good girl. Nurse Dee tells me you play the flute.

—Yes, Father.

—Do what I say and you will get a new flute.

—Thank you, Father.

—Very good. Now lie down and be as still as you can.

The preacher signals for the doctor and Dee to draw nearer to him and Trina. The preacher strokes Trina’s hair and she opens her eyes and sits up, bewildered. She looks at the adults around her and buries her face in her hands.

—Please can I see my mother now, Father.

—Of course, my child. Don’t cry. You’re in good hands.

—Thank you, Father.

He ruffles Trina’s hair, thumbs tears from below her eyes, and kisses her on the top of her head. He turns to one of the guards and says:

—Go and fetch Joyce.

To his many eager assistants, he says:

—Fetch the seamstress, the undertaker, the carpenter, and what’s her name? The old lady who does excellent makeup. Come on people, chop-chop. We have a show to put on.

His people rush to carry out his orders. The seamstress pulls a tape around Trina’s waist and up and down her arms, body, and legs. The carpenter takes one look at Trina and says he has just the right box for her. She is not much bigger than a doll, he says. Just a few pieces of wood for this one. The old lady responsible for making up the faces of the deceased wonders how she will make such a sprightly face look dead.

—Death never looks convincing on a young face.

The old lady decides she will apply plenty of white powder, as if summoning the ghost of the child from the depths to the surface.

—Usually, I make the dead look as if they live. With this one, I have to make her look dead.

The preacher and his assistants begin rehearsals with Trina. One of the assistants lies on a table and pretends to be Trina so that the child can see exactly what she needs to do and at what time. The preacher talks, and the woman acting as Trina reacts at the appropriate time. When Trina takes a turn, the preacher issues his order and she moves too soon. The preacher curses under his breath, spins away from Trina, and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and swipes his face. Dee steps in. She encourages Trina to listen carefully to Father, to concentrate and wait for the third command before she moves a muscle. Trina nods and lies back, and again the preacher faces her and speaks. She twitches, and he curses aloud and asks her if she is a mental incompetent. Trina begins to cry. Dee calms Trina with a hug. Pat steps in and suggests that perhaps the preacher should touch Trina. That his words may be too powerful for the child to do anything but listen, enthralled by his voice. The preacher smiles. He likes this line of reasoning. Pat adds that if he makes contact with Trina, actually lays a hand on her, it might provide the extra clue for the child to obey his command. They rehearse this suggestion. He speaks. Trina ignores him. She counts each time he touches her. On the count of three, she sits up and they congratulate her but remind her to wipe the smile off her face. They run through it again. Trina is perfect. Everyone smiles. The preacher tells Trina to remember to blink many times in the light and shade her eyes. Remember to breathe deep. Breathe as if she has just come up for air from a long dive.

The carpenter arrives with an oblong box and rests it next to Trina, who climbs into her coffin. She lies on her back and wriggles to a settled position, and the assistants arrange her hands by her sides, and straighten the pleats of her dress, and the makeup woman dabs Trina’s face one last time.

—Keep your lips sealed and your eyes closed. Picture your eternal spirit looking down at your empty shell of a body. Make Father proud of you.

The carpenter lowers the lid on the coffin with a wink and a promise to Trina that it will be lifted in no time and she will be reborn as a star among her peers.

The fans whirr and clank and shake, but the night air merely stirs the heat generated by the congregation. An elderly woman faints and the guards bar her husband from leaving his seat to tend to her. The guards ferry the old lady out of the tent and a nurse fans and mops the elderly woman’s brow and offers her a sip of cold water. No one is allowed to leave the tent except for an emergency or in obedience to a direct order from the preacher or one of his assistants. The guards aim their sticks at anyone who shifts too much in a seat or looks around at the exits instead of toward the front of the tent, at the preacher. The mosquito coils dotted around the tent burn down to cinders, and the jungle settles with just the preacher’s voice over the loudspeaker coupled with the response of the congregation. The quiet outside the tent creates the impression that all life secreted in the jungle might be listening to the sermon. A hand held in front of the face in such a thick and absorbing dark would be severed from the body. Trees lean in closer to catch whatever emanates from the tent. Wild animals in that dark move around, if they move at all, with ears inclined toward the commune. The dark listens. The night adds to the audience for a preacher who measures the success of his conviction against the degree of loyalty demonstrated by his followers. To the preacher, the surrounding jungle is merely indifferent. The jungle fights against being cleared according to his settlement plans, though the success of the settlement makes the jungle an ideal location and adversary. The natural camouflage is an ally. The opposition to human habitation presents the right opposing force to the communal effort. If things go wrong, the people simply need to work harder to secure their environment. If his teachings do not make sense, it is because the people focus too much on the details of what he says at the expense of his meaning.