7

WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A CULT AND A COMMUNITY? It is a debate I endured daily with Guy after that night. The distinction is harder to make than it would seem.

Let us return to the threshold of Rose Manor that first night, when we were initiated into their club. I didn’t want to attend Mia’s artistic dinner party, thrown ostensibly to welcome us. It felt to me like a chance for her to show off her lavish hospitality and put us under the spell of influence more than a gesture of her goodwill. In one of the innumerable emotional calculations a wife performs, I felt that sitting through an awkward dinner would be less costly than Guy’s irritation at my wanting to excuse myself and sleep off my creeping sense of dread. It is not every day a girl is welcomed into a cult moonlighting as a century-old club whose existence she knew nothing of, nor realized she had given up everything to live among. How is one supposed to react?

Reader, I am ashamed to confess that it was in this key moment, as in so many of these stories, that I fainted. I fainted like a virgin governess trapped in a castle. Perhaps I will not be burned or drowned as a witch, but locked away in the attic of Rose Manor as a madwoman. That would not be the worst of fates, all considering. Especially if I could bring with me my beloved Anna Nováková.

The smell of perfume and smoke brought me around, though it took me a moment to remember the events of the day and where I was. Waking, I first thought myself in my bed in my apartment a continent away, before realizing that I was tucked beneath a soft, but unfamiliar linen duvet atop sheets of cool bamboo. Organic, of course. The circumstances of this new environment returned. I had read all about Mia’s furniture and linens in a magazine. Someone was burning incense, linden bark or yew, perhaps with a pinch of saffron, to raise the winds. According to Anna Nováková, winds that heighten fertility come in bearing the scent of northern tree bark and linden blooms. It is too late to ask them now what plants they enlisted to disorient their new members. My feet were numb with cold. The sun had set while I was out, and I was unprepared for the temperature drop. I could hear the winds picking up outside the window, and as I crossed my arms over my chest for warmth, I realized that I had been stripped naked again. Moreover, I was not alone. Manny sat in a bedside chair watching me.

“Gave everyone a scare, Tansy,” he said, uncrossing and recrossing his legs with only the slightest jingle.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hoping that I had not jumped in surprise to see him, then berating myself for the apology. A psychiatrist tasked me once with counting all of my apologies in a day, and he will be glad to know that in my present circumstances, I am almost rid of the habit, being rid of the subject to whom I offered them most.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s been a long day for you,” he said with an earnestness that left me further embarrassed. It was undoubtedly meant as a pitying compensation for Guy’s lack of concern. How else was I to take it? And where was Guy? I wondered, trying not to panic, but I should have known better than to expect him to leave an audience for my health. To him, I was safely wrapped in the finest of linens. Being looked after, no less, by our rich and famous host.

I clutched a handful of blanket and pulled it closer to me. Manny’s concern made me nervous.

“You don’t have to be so modest, Tansy. We’re family, after all.”

I am sure that I smiled. That is sometimes all a woman can do to disarm a man without provoking him in close, unwanted proximity. A last resort that looks the same as an invitation.

“I’ve been hoping for a moment alone together.” He leaned forward and set a hand onto my arm over the sheet. A metallic scent cut through the smoke. Between each finger, he was flipping an old-fashioned skeleton key until reaching his thumb and going in the other direction. “I am so happy to have you and Guy as part of our family. I’m sure you know about my journey. Everybody knows my history from that movie,” he said with a sheepish smile. “But that’s just it, Tansy. People think they know me, but only my real family knows me. Here in Bellinas, Mia and I have really created something special. I’m almost envious of you, you know? You get to start out on this path I’ve forged, with so much cool new shit ahead of you.” Again I smiled, if only to speed things along. “You and Guy have started a journey into an even more important kind of family than most people ever dream of. I’m so excited to have you—and Guy—here, Tansy. Guy assures me that you’re both down for the ride, and that is a big relief. I mean, Mia was pretty sure, but you never can tell, right? It’s a tragedy when it doesn’t work out, you know? I know I can trust you.” He leaned forward, and his anklet jingled.

As the seconds ticked by without additional unwanted physical attention, my nervousness transformed into annoyance at both him and Guy for whatever these vague assurances were that had been given on my behalf. I barely registered Manny’s confession, freely given, about the tragedy that befell the others before our arrival.

“We’re a close family here, Tansy. I can tell you belong here. Trust me, I’m a good guy. I can tell these things. I knew right away that you’d never think of breaking our trust in you. I’ll send Mia in with some tea. Man, she makes this special tea just for the girls. You’re gonna love it. You’re gonna love everything here. We’re just about all set for dinner. You can wear some of Mia’s clothes.” He patted my thigh through the duvet. “Oh yeah. This is for your house,” he added, throwing the key onto the bed. With a soft jangle, he shut the door, but before I had any time at all to think, Mia came in carrying a cup.

“My goodness, Tansy,” she said. I watched the waves of white steam rise like snakeskin shed upright and into the air around me.

This is how it happens for most people who find themselves part of cults that pass for communities, whether by their own ambivalence or by the trappings of circumstance. Who wakes up one morning and says to themselves, “I’m going to join a cult today”? Hardly anybody, that is who. There were no Masonic rituals involving skulls and knocking in a Moscow town house. While not unheard of, tattoos or branding must appear excessive to all but the most ecstatic, or the cruelest, of believers. Any cult that values such superficial symbols will not be secret for very long. Agreements are tacitly made between acts of kindness or oaths of friendship. Between the act of sharing vague dreams of a community that will bring art and love and light and whatever else to the world, as Manny put it.

Kindness, forced on you with such undeniable insistence, becomes a debt. The interest tacked onto generosity comes with rates more extreme than any common loan shark’s and may be collected at any moment by any means. Perhaps stupid bracelets are handed out, which add to a general chumminess among the attractive artists. You are offered nourishing broth or fragrant tea. Told how beautiful you are. How sex is your power. How your body is the ultimate source of creation in the universe. And then you are a part of it. Complicit in whatever is happening around you. Guilt is collected like dues until you are too far gone and too embarrassed to admit what you’ve been a part of. Time and money must be accounted for by the sacrifice of your pride. It is easier to go along with the beautiful people around you than to challenge them, and then it is too late to change. Change takes so much effort, it must be said, and who can be bothered when the alternative is so comfortable. You are kept bewildered, or hungry, and before you know it, it is difficult to discern what thoughts are yours. Even what is real.

“That’s a pretty cup,” I said to fill the room with a sound other than my heartbeat. I was never so disillusioned as not to admire her taste.

“Do you like it? I make them in a little studio I set up for pottery. We’ll have to try it one day. It’s like being hypnotized, using the wheel.” She set the mug on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

Mia wore a mask of worry as beautifully as any gown, but I swear her eyes sparkled with something else. Amusement or satisfaction. Before I could answer her question, she laid a hand lightly on my lips so I couldn’t say a word. A soft touch. Scented, of course. Sandalwood and sea air. A hint of bay laurel. Stimulating and soothing at the same time.

“What a long day for you. It was inconsiderate of us not to think of how tired you must be.” Her hand lifted to rest on my cheek. “I’ve brought you some tea. It’s full of minerals and nutrients. Some collagen for your skin.” It smelled of honey and rosemary and butter. Golden and perfect and clear. I forgot my embarrassment, all my ire, every misgiving in the translucent, steamy waves.

“Manny said you make it yourself?”

“Buckets of it. We practically live off our tea. I’ve laid out a dress and some socks for you,” she said quickly as she stood, and I noticed for the first time a chair holding up a sheath of the shimmering fabric. “Feel free to rummage around the closet for anything else you need, if it will fit. You’re so small.” She stroked my head as one would a pet’s. “I’ve got to take the lamb out of the oven now, darling.”