Cassy
She’d been in Gethsemane ten days now. Even if she left tomorrow she wouldn’t have enough time to explore the country before flying home. She didn’t care. She’d learned more about herself in ten days than she would in ten years of travelling. She still hadn’t made a decision about the pregnancy. She knew she was running out of time—if she didn’t hurry up it would be too late, and the decision would have been made by default. Yet even this didn’t feel quite so urgent any more.
They’d had supper and cleared away, and now she was lying on the window seat. Every cabin in Gethsemane was kept immaculate, but everyone worked together. The genders were absolutely equal. It was one of the many things Cassy admired about her new friends.
Suva had a piano lesson with Bali. Aden was sharpening a chainsaw on the kitchen table, whistling under his breath. He’d been cutting firewood all day and come home smelling of wood resin. He and Cassy were content in each other’s company—more than content, though they still hadn’t acknowledged it. Sometimes she’d wake in the night and wonder what would happen if she tiptoed along the porch and slid into the warmth of his bed. She imagined tracing the muscles of his back, running her fingers down his stomach. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t kick her out.
‘Aden?’ she said.
‘Mm?’
‘You must miss your sons.’
For a moment there was silence, and she wondered if she’d overstepped the mark. Then he carried on with his task.
‘Every day,’ he said.
‘How old are they?’
‘Perth will be fifteen by now. Medan’s thirteen.’
‘Have you ever heard from them?’
‘No. They know I love them. I’m still hoping they’ll come back.’
He moved the chain along, sharpened the next link. The gentle whistling began again.
A peaceful sensation fizzed in the back of her head. At Monika’s request, she’d handed over her watch to be put in the safe, along with her wallet, phone and passport. There were no clocks in Gethsemane, so she didn’t know the exact time. All she knew was that Night Call was late, and everyone was up again before sunrise. Her intellect seemed to have melted. She’d never thought of lack of sleep as a state of being before.
She remembered talking to her glamorous cousin, Yvette, at a family funeral. Yvette was a big shot in a shipping company, constantly held up as a role model by Mike (You’ll have to pull your finger out for these exams, if you want to be as successful as Yvette). She earned gazillions and worked eighty hours a week until her first child arrived.
The woman sprawled in an armchair hadn’t looked like a big shot. Her eyes were puffy, her skirt crumpled, and she had a baby jammed up her blouse. Three mugs of tea were lined up on the coffee table.
‘He keeping you awake?’ asked Cassy.
‘You can say that again.’ Yvette drank the first of the mugs straight down with the air of an alcoholic knocking back a shot.
‘Teething?’
‘Oh my God. The bloody child’s nocturnal.’
‘You must be knackered.’
A heavy smile crossed her cousin’s face. Her voice drawled, her eyes drooped. ‘Don’t tell anyone I said this, but … you know what?’
‘What?’
‘It’s actually quite a pleasant sensation, as long as you don’t have to use your intellect. It isn’t motherhood per se that mushes people’s brains, it’s sleep deprivation. It’s like a weirdly chilled trance. I tried to fight it, but now I’ve given in. Five o’clock this morning, I’m pretty sure I was starting to hallucinate.’
‘I never want to go through that,’ declared Cassy. ‘Uh-uh. Never.’
Yvette’s laugh ended in a yawn. ‘This little cherub has turned two intelligent beings into worshipping ninnies.’
Aden’s whistling sounded far away.
I’d better have another go at contacting Mum and Dad, Cassy thought. I bet there’s a pile of emails from them by now. Maybe they know about Hamish and me? They’ll make a drama of it.
The whistling fell into the folds of her consciousness. Thoughts flickered in and out like flames in the stove: some inconsequential, some bright, some distorted. The chainsaw bumped against the table—a harsh sound, grating through the fog—but then it was her father, dropping his briefcase onto the bedroom floor.
She was very small; her head came to his waist.
‘Are you pregnant?’ He looked disgusted, as though he could smell something revolting.
‘We’re very disappointed in you,’ said her mother. ‘We’re going to send you away.’
They pulled her trunk out of the cupboard. The very sight of it made her feel homesick. It was like a coffin, and her name was on the lid: Cassandra Howells. She started to cry. Her nose was running.
‘It’ll be fun,’ said her mother, cheerfully lobbing things into the trunk. ‘You’ll have lots of new friends.’
And then the bell began to toll. It was the most blissful, welcome sound. She wasn’t in disgrace. She wasn’t being sent away. She was loved.
Aden was damping down the stove. ‘Hello there, sleeping beauty! Coming? You don’t have to.’
But she wanted to go. She wanted to be a part of that happy, hopeful crowd. Her friends would dilute the loneliness of her dream.
‘The bell’s reassuring,’ she said, as they walked in the icy dark. ‘I love the fact that someone rings it at the same times every day. The planet might be in chaos, my life might be a mess, but as long as that bell keeps tolling, all is well.’
‘Did you know that here at Gethsemane we keep Vigil?’ asked Aden.
‘Vigil?’
‘Mm. All night, every night.’
‘What does that involve?’
‘At any one time—day or night—there will be people awake, normally in the wharenui. There’s never a time when everyone is asleep.’
‘Who stays awake?’
‘We take it in turns. But someone is always keeping watch.’
‘Keeping watch for what?’
‘Just keeping watch. A member of Gethsemane is called a Watchman.’ They were approaching the wharenui, drawn by the buttery light from its windows. ‘Suva’s going to take her turn too, now that she’s eleven.’
Cassy liked the idea. Even while she slept, she was never completely alone. People were watching over her, and over the world.
‘There’s so much I don’t know,’ she said.
‘You will. You’ll know everything.’
‘If I stay?’
‘If you stay.’ He paused, one foot on the steps. ‘I’d very much like you to stay.’
•
The wharenui felt as it always did at night: warm and safe. Beeswax in the candles added an intoxicating sweetness to the air. The Watchmen weren’t shadows in the dark any more; they were friends.
Otto led the community in sharing news: a seventieth birthday, a child who’d broken her arm. Kyoto’s partner Athens—a gypsy queen with dark eyes and silver-streaked hair—announced that the mill had won a national award for a range of knitwear. Apparently, Gethsemane shawls could be bought in smart shops all over New Zealand. Then came the song: mellow this evening, and reflective. They were still singing when Justin joined them.
‘Hello, everyone,’ he said, as he stepped onto the dais. ‘I couldn’t stay away.’
There was laughter and a murmur of greeting. The music continued, but very quietly.
‘Now,’ said Justin, ‘who has a confession to make?’
A handful of people came forwards to stand in front of the dais, facing the crowd. Dublin the drummer; a woman called Valencia, whom Cassy had seen sewing blue dresses; Malindi; and two older men whose names Cassy didn’t yet know.
‘Negativity breeds in dark corners,’ said Justin. ‘Bring your negative thoughts out into the sunlight! Humble yourself, and be nothing.’
Cassy didn’t like the sound of this. She was afraid it was going to be some ghastly public humiliation, but the ritual seemed pretty benign. The people confessing didn’t have much to be guilty about: seeing a water-skier on the lake and feeling jealous … snapping at someone in anger … eating apples on a fasting day.
Justin spoke privately to each of them and touched his or her forehead. ‘This is the touch of forgiveness,’ he said. ‘Love yourself again.’
It was all over in a matter of minutes. The five went back to their places looking happy.
Cassy thought Call must end soon, and they’d all be getting some sleep, but the music floated on.
‘Now,’ began Justin, sitting on the step of the dais, ‘shall we talk about God?’
Cassy groaned inwardly. Please, no!
He was looking at her. It was as though he’d heard.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Cassy. But will you listen for a while? Let the words flow into your mind. Just let them flow in … flow in … that’s all I ask. You can leave at any time, and we’ll understand. Will you listen?’
She nodded, blushed, and mouthed, Okay.
It was easy stuff at first. Justin spoke calmly and fluently. He said the Old Testament was no more than a jumbled collection of pagan fables, twisted to mean things that were never intended.
‘They somehow managed to dream up this place called hell—hell!—the ultimate naughty step.’ He shook his head in bemusement. ‘Mankind, eh?’
People chuckled. Cassy smiled too. So far, so good. Even her parents could buy into this.
Justin talked about Maori gods of earth and sky, forest and sea, earthquakes and volcanos. Their names sounded exotic and compelling, rising above the haunting music.
‘Those ancient stories of gods are images of the Infinite Power,’ he said. ‘Images from the minds of men. Do you see? Christian missionaries tried to disinfect, to kill off what they saw as the dangerous bacteria of deep spirituality. They called those ancient beliefs “superstition”. What do I call them? I call them wisdom. I call them seeing the universe with eyes and minds that are open to the Infinite Power.’
His voice was mesmeric, a lullaby in her profound exhaustion, dulling the analytical part of her brain. He talked for a long, long time—she estimated an hour. She tried to think critically, to deconstruct ideas such as ‘spirituality’ and ‘Infinite’, but they streamed like water: impossible to catch between her hands before he’d moved to another. People swayed as the voice flowed on and on. Sometimes phrases would be repeated many times, waves stroking the beach—gentle, hypnotic, insistent.
‘What is God?’ he asked, stepping down from the dais and wandering among his listeners. ‘Who is God? God is the Infinite Power that rolls through the universe. Human beings can’t imagine infinity. They try to imagine, and they make up stories, and throughout the centuries those stories grow into religions over which wars are fought and atrocities are committed and millions die. And where is God?’ He turned in a full circle. ‘Not in the trenches, not in the bloody battlefields, not among the fallen boys.’
He’d arrived in front of Cassy.
‘But if we free our minds, we can glimpse the glory of the Infinite Power.’ He looked into her eyes, speaking quietly. ‘Cassy, we’d like you to come with us on a journey. It’s quite safe. You don’t have to leave this room.’
She nodded. She wanted to follow where he led. She wanted to see beyond the ordinary.
‘Well done.’ Justin laid both hands on her head before returning to the dais. ‘Close your eyes, then. Follow me. Follow me.’
The music stopped, leaving a charged silence. Cassy closed her eyes and let her consciousness drift. As time passed she lost awareness of the room, of Aden beside her, even of herself. The chatter in her head was gone. Her mind had been freed from her body, and she was floating in the dark.
‘You feel the night air,’ Justin was saying. ‘Do you feel it rushing through your spirit? You’re flying over the ruffled water … soaring up the flanks of Tarawera. Higher and higher, until you reach the summit. All the world is spread before you … all the world … all the stars in their billions. Feel the wonder. Feel the wonder. Do you hear the song of the universe?’
She could hear it—she was drenched in it. The night sky was pulsating with music. She was on top of a bare mountain, buffeted by winds, her hair tangling around her face. She could see forever. She could see the chaotic stain of humanity, spread across the earth.
‘Look into the stars,’ said Justin. ‘And now look far, far beyond them. You’re seeing everything that is, and everything that was. You’re seeing everything that will be. You’re looking into infinity.’
Cassy was dimly aware of shouts and laughter, followed by thuds. Justin raised his voice, shouting above the clamour.
‘And now you’re communing with another mind. Yes, yes, the mind of the Infinite! You feel an unimaginable presence. You feel love, lifting you up in a tide … do you feel it?’
Yes! She felt it—like a wave, so powerful that it knocked her right down. She felt something far greater than she’d ever imagined, with senses she had never known existed: an overwhelming awareness of a vast and loving consciousness. It reached into her and filled her heart with love, then lifted her and carried her. She was laughing with joy—what did anything matter? Why be afraid, ever again?
She was lying at Justin’s feet. She had no idea how she’d got there. All around her, people were laughing and weeping. Some seemed to be having fits, their bodies convulsing. She saw people fall, thudding onto the wooden floor. Justin moved among them, laying his hands on each one.
Cassy felt tears coursing down her cheeks, but she wasn’t embarrassed. She’d travelled far beyond vanity.
Justin crouched beside her.
‘What did you feel?’ he asked.
‘I was in the presence of someone … something. I can’t describe it. But I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.’
‘Oh, Cassy, you are amazing.’ He pulled her head to his shoulder. He seemed intensely moved. ‘You’ve looked into the face of God.’