“I quite fancy seeing the swimming pool,” said Bud, unexpectedly, as we set off. I turned and gave him a quizzical look, which he met with a bright smile. “Is it a fancy one, or what?”
KSue giggled. “Not fancy, but wonderful. Demetrius said it should be built in the shadiest spot possible, so we could use it without fear of burning – and he was quite right about that. It means you get a cool swim whatever time your booking is for.”
“You have to book the swimming pool?” I thought that sounded odd. “Why’s that?”
“It’s meant as a place where we can undertake meditative activity, while also exercising – a truly multi-Faceted activity. I’m not a strong swimmer, so it’s perfect for me because it’s only four feet deep, so I know I won’t drown.”
I knew exactly what she meant. “I can’t swim at all, so that depth would be perfect for me, too. But it’s not a pleasure-pool, so I suppose we won’t be using it. Besides, we didn’t bring any costumes.”
KSue looked blank. “Costumes?”
“Swimsuits,” said Bud. “There are some things for which my wife seems incapable of using the correct North American terminology.” He rolled his eyes.
KSue laughed heartily – the first time I’d heard her do that. Her laugh tinkled. “That’s such a funny way to describe them – all oldey-worldey…like when they’d swim in waterholes in the days when they were out here digging for gold, and so on. But we don’t wear swimsuits; part of the contemplation is to be able to feel the movement of the water against your skin. Oh no, a ‘costume’ would never do.”
Bud and I managed to share a “Yikes!” look without KSue noticing before he said, “So I guess it’s in a nice, secluded spot.”
“See for yourself,” said KSue as we stopped on the shoulder of the hill we’d walked up, and peered down.
The pool looked as odd in real life as it had on the map I’d seen: it was long and narrow, bordered with a plain stone coping, and was positioned in an isolated location, surrounded on all sides by desert. Someone was swimming languid lengths, and our birds-eye view was close enough that we could tell they were swimming au naturel, as KSue had said, but, fortunately, we weren’t close enough to know if the person whose form we could see was male or female.
“You wouldn’t catch me doing the backstroke down there,” was Bud’s wry observation.
“That’s my favourite,” said KSue, “and I like to float about on my back, too.”
I couldn’t unsee the picture that conjured in my head, so simply commented, “That must be very relaxing,” and hoped the person using the pool at that moment didn’t favor any such meditative methods.
“That’s Jenn Okada,” said KSue. “She’s our communications guru – writes all the stuff that goes out to our followers around the world, and runs our online outreach. Wonderful swimmer – she’ll keep going like that for almost her full hour, then she’ll get back to the communications hub and do more in a day than some are able to do in a week. She gives to Faceting in every way she can. We’re lucky to have her.”
“Where next?” I asked.
“The gardens? Then the amphitheater?”
Both Bud and I nodded. “It’ll be interesting to see some desert planting,” said Bud, and I was pleased he sounded genuinely interested, as was I.
“Excellent,” said KSue happily, “I’ll lead the way.”
We followed our guide to the top of the hill, rounded a bend in the suggestion of a path we were on, then headed down another depression in the hillside that led toward yet another little valley. I hadn’t imagined there’d be so much hillwalking, and was getting quite hot. As we labored on – with my eyes firmly focused on where my feet were going – I asked, “Do you know where they found Oscar? Was he out this way when he…fell?”
KSue didn’t seem to be at all interested in where she was putting her feet and replied by turning toward me and pointing back the way we’d come. “No, he was much further out. Over there, up on that hill. Lump Hill.”
We looked and squinted. “That looks quite steep,” I observed. “I wonder what took him all the way up there – presumably he’d had to go down into the valley below to climb back up; it looks like quite a hike.”
KSue shrugged. “Not so far, really. It’s a popular spot for people who want one of the best chances in the area of getting cellphone reception. If you look around, you’ll see it’s the nearest high-spot, though it’s still relatively low, if you see what I mean.”
I did. “Do you think he went there to be alone, after he found out about his mother’s death?”
We continued to walk, carefully, down the hillside, as KSue gave her reply some thought. “I guess. He wasn’t ever really alone, so maybe he felt he needed some space.”
“So he was a sociable type?” I pressed. I was still trying to build a picture of Oscar.
“Not when he was younger. Kept himself to himself. That’s what they always say, right? But, since the building began here, I rarely saw him alone. He was always with Zara, or Ambroise, or Don…or Jenn. That was an odd friendship right there – him and Jenn. They got along well, though they were a bit like chalk and cheese. She’s such a good communicator – everything she says makes sense to me right away. But Oscar? You know how sometimes I don’t know the right words to use? Well, he was the same, and quite often what he said made no sense at all to me.”
“How d’you mean?” Bud was also concentrating on his feet as the stony soil rolled about beneath them.
“Well, like that last time I saw him, for example. I’d been sitting with Linda’s remains for a while, as you know, then I’d finally left her and gone out into the plaza. When Don found me, I couldn’t really speak – I was so very upset, you see, even though I knew I shouldn’t be, because she was only passing on. But I was, and he was quite patient, but when I told him what had happened he went rushing off to see Linda, then headed straight for Oscar’s dig. Don brought Oscar across the plaza, and they went into Linda’s dig, and when Oscar came out he was like a different person. He was…well, now I don’t know how to explain it, but he wasn’t himself.”
I sighed inwardly; I wanted to understand Oscar’s mood after the discovery of his mother’s body, so felt the need to say, “Oh come on, KSue, I’m starting to get to know you a little, and I reckon you’re highly intuitive when it comes to judging people’s moods,” I lied, “so don’t tell me what he was like, just tell me the answer to this question: if Oscar had been an animal at that moment, what animal would he have been?”
KSue looked surprised, but replied immediately, “A tiger. Yes, definitely a tiger. He roared at me that I should have fetched help as soon as I had found her. He was very…aggressive.”
Interesting. “And what animal would you say he was normally?”
KSue gave that answer some thought. “An armadillo? They’re slow, and roll themselves up into a ball, covered with armor, when they don’t like what’s going on around them, right?” I nodded. “That’s what he was like.”
Fascinating.
“That was fun,” said KSue.
I knew I had a valuable opportunity. “Yes, it’s fun, isn’t it? So, what animal would you say Zara is?”
KSue stopped walking, so Bud and I stopped, too. “Zara?” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then her expression changed. “Zara’s a white peacock. That’s it! I’ve known her since she was little, of course, and that’s not what she always was – not like Oscar who was always an armadillo – but that’s what she’s grown into, which is odd because she was a bit of an ugly duckling…oh, not that she was a hideous child, or anything, but her dark hair and blue eyes made her look very…intense, which isn’t always attractive at a young age, right? And she was always very snappish – you know how ducks quack and squawk? She used to make a fuss like that if she couldn’t get her way, or something she wanted, and Linda and Demetrius always used to give in, just to shut her up. Which I was never convinced was a good thing. But she did have a difficult life, being so clever, you see. And, of course, there was the fact she hardly ever slept. Not that she had the time, really, with all the studying she did. Such a voracious reader. Always with older kids in higher-than-age grades in school, then off to a special school, then to college at fourteen. She got her MBA at nineteen, so she’s never really spent much time with people of her own age at all. But now that she’s a young woman – and I try hard to think of her that way, even though she’s still a very young woman – she’s definitely a white peacock.”
KSue’s manner of speaking seemed to leave Bud with a bemused look every time she opened her mouth, and even I realized there was a lot to digest in what she’d said.
In an attempt to clarify the situation, I asked, “So Zara’s got a Masters degree in business administration? She’s got a good business brain?”
“Oh yes,” replied KSue brightly as she marched off again, “quite brilliant. She was the one who set up the cooperative marketplace at the original Gem when she was still a teen, sourcing and selling supplies we Facetors used in our practices, and giving local artisans the opportunity to reach out to the community in Sedona – and a lot of tourists who came to Sedona for the art – as well as giving them a chance to sell to Facetors around the world. Not that there were as many of them then as there are now – but that’s another thing she’s been really good at, too: she’s brought Faceting into the digital age. We are now many thousands, whereas before we were only a few hundred. And that’s so wonderful.”
“Was Oscar not as brilliant as Zara?” Bud sounded interested.
KSue stopped again, this time quite abruptly. “His ideas were beyond his capability to bring them to fruition.” I was taken aback by KSue’s pithy response, and wondered if they were her own words, or if she’d heard someone else utter them. I suspected the latter. Which was interesting in itself.
“And – to get back to your original point, KSue – what was it that Oscar said to you in the plaza that was so mystifying?” I was determined to get there.
KSue said, “He roared, ‘She’s gone too far!’ Which I guessed meant Linda had gone too far from this plane for him to reach her. Though, of course, that might not be it at all.”
I gave KSue a sideways glance – and wondered about what she’d just said.
“Here we are,” she added as we finally reached a wide plateau which was a riot of greenery, especially when compared with the scrubby landscape around us. Instead of spiny cholla bushes, there were neat rows of greens, citrus trees, and a variety of vegetables and legumes being tended by about a dozen Facetors in their rainbow garments, all working diligently, and all – very sensibly – wearing wide-brimmed hats. I was beginning to wish I’d brought one, but at least my arms and legs were covered in cream flowing cotton – which I’d thought a sensibly neutral choice for the day.
“Amazing,” said Bud, and I agreed. “Where do you get your water?” Now it was KSue’s turn to look surprised, so he added, “At home we don’t have city water, we get it from our well, so we’re a bit more sensitive to the challenges of having a reliable water supply than some might be.”
KSue clapped her little hands. “Quite right, too. And I happen to know all about our water,” she said happily. “Because I care for the plants here, I need to be aware of our water management program. We have three wells in different parts of the overall campus, and we treat our gray water for reuse here, too. We also have a few strategically placed storage tanks, in case the wells or pumps are problematic and we have to get water delivered in a truck. But the wells are really good – wonderful pressure. We’re on the edge of two watershed areas here, so it’s all a bit complicated, but we’re frugal with our use of fresh water – which all goes through our own treatment plant, so it’s potable.”
I could tell by Bud’s expression that he hadn’t expected such a comprehensive response, and he looked impressed. “It’s a critical resource,” he noted.
“Absolutely. And when Demetrius spoke about the original plans, water was his first priority, as it should be. You cannot build a refuge in the desert without it. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Demetrius’s foresight – and Ambroise being on hand to get the right sort of people involved – I don’t think Oscar and Zara would have bought this specific piece of land.”
“I didn’t realize Ambroise had been as significantly involved at such an early stage,” I said.
KSue looked surprised. “He and Oscar were very close. Knew each other for some time before this place ever got going. Something to do with diamonds in the Arctic Circle? One of Oscar’s schemes or interests, anyways. Indeed, Oscar bringing Ambroise into our movement was a real coup, because he’s such a lovely man – and not hard to look at, am I right, Cait?” She winked, then composed herself. “Not that looks are everything – well, they’re not anything of any importance, really, though it doesn’t hurt to have a big smile like he has. Oh, and those eyes – not too different from yours, Bud.” Bud blushed. “But Ambroise is so much more than that – he’s so helpful to everyone here. And, of course, then Zara encouraged Serendipity to come here to build her restaurant, which will do great things for us – because when folks see how wonderful life is here, they’re bound to want to get to know more about our beliefs. So many young people these days want to try different foody things that they’ll come to Serendipity’s place and then find us here – and you know what these Millennials are like, so eager to really examine themselves. Such a healthy attitude, I think – though, of course, it’s not for everyone.”
As KSue’s enthusiastic banter flowed over us, we were greeted with nods and smiles. We wandered among the rows of beans, peppers, cantaloups, okra, and some leaves I had to ask about. “Are those turnips?” It seemed an odd choice.
“Yes, they like the heat and the dry soil, as do the carrots, black-eyed peas, and cowpeas. Those are the tepary beans coming along – they’ll be hummus before you know it.” KSue had adopted a proprietorial air as we’d been walking the rows of raised beds. “Our compost is over there, but most of the kitchen scraps go to the chickens, along with some supplementary feed – which is, of course, completely organic, and free of any chemicals.”
“Of course,” I replied. “So where’s the hydroponic area?”
KSue waved her arm. “The other side of the hill, nearer the water tanks. It’s cooler there, too. Even here I’ve planned exactly where to plant certain crops so they avoid the worst of the afternoon sun, but the things we grow under cover can be anywhere, and don’t need a prime spot like this. Not as beautiful, but so productive. Now, let’s swing past the amphitheater on our way to the crafting shed.”
“The crafting shed?” It was clear it didn’t sound terribly appealing to Bud.
“Well, it’s not a shed at all – in fact I don’t know why it’s called that. It’s just a large open structure with a canvas roof – for shade, of course – where everyone gets together to…well, craft things out of…other things. It’s not really my scene. Growing? Yes. Making something out of something else? No. But people do make such wonderful items. Of course a good number of stones and gems are used, but some collect dead cholla and clean it up to make it an attractive item for people to buy as home décor, or use local wood – from dead trees – to carve little boxes, or knobbly things that are…well, I’m never sure what they are, but they look good. That kinda thing, you know?”
“Did Linda have her jewelry made for her here?” She’d worn such a lot, I’d wondered when I’d seen the photos where she’d got it all; it didn’t look as though it had come from any sort of place that mass-produced turquoise jewelry – if such places even existed.
“Not here, no. She used to make all sorts of turquoise objects, including jewelry, herself. Indeed, it sold real well at the original Gem. Over the years she built a good working relationship with the only remaining full-time turquoise mine in the country, right here in Arizona.”
“Elizabeth told us that Linda was interested in Estsanatlehi, so turquoise was important to her?” KSue nodded. I continued, “I noticed her feet, in the photos. Her actual skin was turquoise. How did she manage that? Was she tattooed?”
KSue laughed. “Oh heck, no. Tattoos on feet are painful. She dyed her feet; sat with them in a bowl full of turquoise food dye that she mixed up herself. All natural. Totally harmless. She did it once a week. Said it helped her feel totally grounded and connected to Estsanatlehi. That, and her jewelry. She got all her stones direct from the mine I mentioned; they’d let her know when they’d found something special. More recently she’d get the stones made up into pieces by some of the professional silversmiths who used to sell their work at the Gem’s co-op. When we’re fully operational here, and folks come out to see what we have for sale, I expect some of them will sell through the Desert Gem, too.”
I was still struggling with why on earth anyone would drive out so far into the desert to visit at all, so asked, “And are there plans for more facilities to appeal to visitors? Performances at the amphitheater, maybe?”
KSue looked uncertain. “I don’t really know much about all that. I know we’re trying to feed ourselves, and provide as much produce as we can for Serendipity’s place, but, beyond that…well, it’s not my thing. I have heard there’ll be a sanctuary for rejuvenation – massage, reiki, acupuncture, all the good stuff – you know, for the realignment of body and soul. There’ll be so many Facetors from all over who’ll want to come here that I think that’s the plan.”
It didn’t seem like much of a plan to me, but also didn’t think KSue was the one to have that conversation with.
The amphitheater was quite large: stone benches lined a semi-natural bowl in a hillside, and a small stage, covered with canvas sails, suggested that performers would be arriving at any moment.
“This is impressive,” I said. “It must have been a significant construction project, cutting all those tiers into the hillside. It looks like a big excavation took place here. What’s the theater used for?”
KSue’s face beamed. “Zara channels here sometimes, and we all come to watch. It’s wonderful. Magical. The acoustics mean you can hear everything so clearly – she doesn’t even need a microphone. All natural, you know? And those fire bowls along the front of the stage are lit during dark time, which gives the entire ceremony the most dramatic atmosphere.”
I imagined Zara would enjoy that, and could picture how she’d be able to use the situation to impress her audience.
We walked on, and eventually reached the crafting shed, our next stop on the tour. My attention was grabbed by a small figure bent over a massive rainbow-hued quilt. “Good grief, that’s huge,” was out of my mouth in a heartbeat, and I realized I’d sounded quite rude, so quickly added, “and beautiful.”
The head of the woman laboring at the piece popped up, and she smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice. “It’s almost done. It’s been my life for the past few months, and I can’t believe it’s almost finished.”
“Dru Ann, meet Cait and Bud. This is Dru Ann, she’s such a good quilter. We’re lucky to have her. She’s also one of our better sharers…you know, good at passing learning from one person to another.” I didn’t know, but flashed a smile at the woman whose passion project surrounded her.
“Wonderful colors,” I said. Even Bud agreed, and we both drew closer to inspect the complex pattern she was crafting. Sinuous lines of colors that changed in half-shades from one hue to another snaked across the quilt. “Those pieces of fabric must have taken some cutting and sewing,” I said, “though I admit I know nothing about quilting, that must be a lot of work.” I looked around – not a sewing machine in sight. “Did you stitch the entire thing by hand?” I found it hard to believe.
Dru Ann nodded coyly. “It’s a wonderful meditation,” she said. “Now I’m almost done, I’m planning my next project.”
“And what will happen to this?” Bud’s tone suggested he couldn’t imagine.
Dru Ann cast her eyes across her creation. “I was commissioned to make it for a friend of Linda’s, so it’s already sold. The next one is, too – a piece for a friend of Ravi, one of our elders who’s also on the other side, now.”
“How wonderful to be able to earn a living doing what you love.” I meant it from the heart.
Dru Ann smiled. “The payment isn’t for me, it’s for this place – my way of supporting it, and helping it grow. I get to do what I love, and live the life I want to live here, though, of course, it’s a little less like it used to be when Ravi and Linda were alive. I miss them.”
“But they’re all around us, everywhere, all the time, just like Demetrius, and they’ll be back soon.” KSue’s tone was a little sharp.
Dru Ann nodded, then added, “I know…but still…”
“Oh look, there’s Jenn – let me introduce you.” KSue was immediately distracted.
Approaching us was the woman we’d apparently seen in the pool; she was about thirty, lean, and clad in a vivid orange outfit, her long, straight black hair still wet. She walked toward KSue, smiling, and they hugged, but not for very long. She bowed to us as KSue introduced us, and spoke with an unmistakeable West Coast accent.
“Great to meet you. Our first guests. Like the place?” She was direct, if nothing else.
“Loving it,” said Bud, sounding as though he meant it. “Fascinating, in so many ways.”
“Not as fascinating as you two; I wondered why Serendipity wanted you to be her guests of honor, then I found out all about you, and it became clear how special you both are. You know, we were almost, like, neighbors, once upon a time – I’m from Seattle, just down the road from you guys.”
“Go Seahawks,” said Bud, in what I could only assume was a bizarre attempt at bonding with the woman.
Jenn Okada’s expression suggested she wasn’t likely to be found wearing a shirt with a giant 12 on it during football season, and she stuck to her guns. “We have several local dignitaries and food writers visiting in a few days, but we’re grateful you agreed to be the guinea pigs for the soft opening. Thanks.”
I couldn’t decide if what she’d said was a compliment or not; because of the way her voice rose at the end of every sentence, her “Thanks” sounded more like a question than a statement.
“Can’t stop. I’ve got two podcasts to get up today, and we’re hosting a live-stream discussion for Facetors in Australia and New Zealand later on, so I’ll be at it until the small hours. Have fun at the dinner – and don’t worry about the speeches.”
Bud’s brow furrowed. “Speeches? No one’s mentioned speeches,” he said. “Who’s making speeches?”
It was Jenn’s turn to look puzzled. “You two are; I’m having them filmed, for our website. Didn’t Serendipity tell you?”
We shook our heads, and exchanged a horrified glance.
Jenn turned and waved. “A cop and a professor? You’ll be fine – you’ve both done a load of public speaking, I’m sure. Don’t be afraid to heap praise upon us. Bye.”
I didn’t want the chance to get an insight into what I suspected were the real money-making mechanics of the Faceting movement slip out of my grasp, so called, “Just a minute Jenn…I have a special favor to ask.”
I whispered to Bud, “Try to find out about this dead Ravi person from Dru Ann, and whatever you can about the other ‘elders’ who’ve died here – I’ll meet you back at our dig; we’ll give lunch at that depressing place a miss, okay?”
Bud appeared to still be reeling from the news that he was due to make a speech, on film, but nodded. I knew he’d do a great job of information-gathering, so made my farewells to KSue, thanked her for her time, and raced after Jenn, who was still in motion, and looking impatient.
“Let’s take a shortcut,” she snapped.
We passed through a most extraordinary area that was all but hidden behind a long, low building, very similar in style to the refectory; half a dozen clotheslines were filled with freshly-laundered rainbow outfits, gleaming in the sunlight, billowing in the slight breeze they were catching on top of the hill. It was beautiful, and surreal. I wondered who had picked the short straw and got stuck washing them all, and Jenn answered my unasked question by saying, “I’m on laundry duty for one day next week. I hate it – but it’s a great workout and the sweating’s good for my skin.”
“Do you at least have washing machines?” I conjured visions of thrashing dirty clothing up and down an old-fashioned washboard.
“A dozen. Everyone gets a clean set of clothing, or more if they want, every day – of their chosen color.”
“The orange suits you. Do all the different colors have a special significance?” I knew they must, but wondered if they played some sort of unique role for the Facetors.
Jenn gave me a sideways look. “Of course they do. You’re a psychologist, so you must know that color’s a strong mood influencer. Orange is an optimistic color, like me. It’s youthful, and encourages good social communication. Very important in my role. The fact it complements my own coloring is an added bonus.” All business.
“I went for cream today – I thought I’d try to blend in.”
Jenn looked me up and down. “But cream’s not really a color, is it? It’s neither one thing, nor another. A bit indecisive. Lacking any statement. But maybe as a psychologist that’s who you really are. I’ve found your profession to be almost paranoid about never stating a personal opinion about anything.”
To be fair, Jenn’s tone didn’t suggest to me that she was trying to be scathing, but rather that she was just a direct person, who spoke her mind – whatever the effect might be. Rather than put her right, I thought it might be useful if Jenn continued to think I was indecisive, so replied by saying, “Maybe.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“Well, you see, while Bud’s retired, I still work, and I didn’t realize I’d be so out of touch while we were here. I really need to check in with my office. Is that something I might be able to do by using some of what I assume must be a good deal of communication equipment you use? If you’re always filming, and uploading podcasts and so forth, I’m guessing you have internet access.”
“Didn’t Serendipity tell you we’re all here because we want to be disconnected from the outside world?” Again, direct, yet cutting. Heartless, or just professional?
“Not really – she and I used to keep in touch by text and email, so it never occurred to me it would be so difficult to get a signal here, but there’s no Wi-Fi either. I didn’t think I needed to tell anyone I would be out of touch for a whole week, so I didn’t even post an out-of-office notice on my email.”
Jenn’s reply was a short. “We decided against Wi-Fi. Disconnect to connect. Here we are.”
The building we were about to enter looked like a double-sized dig – smooth, rounded, and blending into the ground beneath and beyond it – but this one differed insofar as, where the other structures had fire bowls on their roofs, this one had a large satellite dish. I also noticed we were at the top of a definite rise in the topography, even higher than the clothes lines, and above all the other structures I could see.
“Come in, I’ll get you settled.” Jenn sounded welcoming enough – for her – so I followed her inside.
The place was like something you’d see in a science fiction movie – with banks of screens double-stacked, keyboards covering several desks, and cables everywhere. Lights blinked, screens were populated with silently-speaking Facetors’ heads, scenes showing landscapes, or nature in all her beauty. The room itself wasn’t lit; all the illumination it needed was coming from the dozens of screens. The entire set-up was so overwhelmingly different from everything I’d been seeing for the past few days that it took my mind a moment to allow everything to sink in.
“Oh, that’s a lot of technology,” was all I managed.
“I know, and it all gets used, all the time, which is why this is the only part of the Desert Gem that has honest to goodness A/C,” was Jenn’s curt reply. “Just give me a minute and I’ll clear a space for you. How does half an hour suit? I’ve gotta get some stuff set up in the channelling chamber, which is at the rear of Zara’s personal dig, for later on, so you can have this place to yourself, but then I really will need you out of here so I can focus on my prep for our Antipodean special meeting, okay.” It wasn’t a question, so I stood back while Jenn fiddled with a few keyboards, finally allowing me to take a seat.
“Mouse, keyboard – that’s your screen. You’re already connected to the wonderful worldwide web, so have at it.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll be back in twenty-seven minutes. Have fun.”
Harsh sunlight pierced the gloom as she opened the door, then I was alone inside what felt like a cave, with the internet at my fingertips, and twenty-seven minutes of freedom to roam at will. I had a plan, put my head down, and got on with it.