Chosen (10 page)

Rebecca blinks and mutters something.

‘What?'

‘You are a test.' Rebecca slits her eyes at Dodie. They don't even look like her own eyes any more. ‘You've been sent to test me.'

Dodie goes to the door and thumps it. She tries jabbing any old numbers into the keypad, but it won't open.

‘How do I get out of here?' she demands.

But Rebecca only shakes her head. She shuts her eyes and does the infuriating hum until Hannah returns with another pot of tea, followed into the room by a tall, white-robed man in a mask.

‘
This
is Dodie,' Hannah says, as if she has been the topic of conversation.

‘I'm off –' Dodie makes for the door but the Mask shuts it briskly with his foot.

‘You can't
keep
me here.'

‘Welcome.' The voice that comes from behind the mask is young, humorous, American. The mask is white and smooth, like half an eggshell, with two round eyeholes and a straight slit for the mouth.

‘Ta,' Dodie says. Dodie takes a step away from his extended hand.

‘Rebecca.' He rests his palm on top of her head. She closes her eyes and smiles.

‘Now sit,' he says.

Dodie gives in for the moment and sits beside Rebecca as the Mask lowers himself onto the sofa opposite. Hannah stands beside the door, expression switched off.

‘I'm only here to see my brother,' Dodie says.

‘Sure.' It's peculiar to watch a blank mask speak; there's a little ring of dampness, condensation, round the mouth slit. ‘But first, do you have any questions?' From within the eyeholes Dodie can just make out the glint of eyes. His fingers are long and tapered with blond hairs on the backs.

‘Obviously I have. When will I see Seth?'

The Mask chuckles. ‘Only one person could answer you that. Another?'

‘Are you stopping him seeing me? Are you brainwashing him?'

Hannah gives a strange growling laugh. ‘How melodramatic! You've been watching too much TV.'

‘Questions about Soul-Life, I meant,' the Mask says. ‘How we began, maybe? See, Our Father here on Earth founded our little community, in the UK first of all, until
the Lord told him to move the operation here, to New York State. And boy, how we've grown since then. See, Dodie, in this big, bad, old world, wow, you only have to switch on the TV to see it's going down the john –'

‘I'm not really that interested,' she cuts in. Hannah skewers her with a look. ‘And what's with the mask, anyway?'

The Mask laughs. ‘Straight to the heart of it, way to go, Dodie. See the mask' – he taps it, a thin hollow eggshell sound – ‘symbolizes the desire to renounce individual personality.'

‘But I don't see how a person can
possibly
lose their identity. I mean, how can you?'

‘Correct,' the Mask says. ‘Of course it is impossible. You got me there.'

Rebecca giggles.

‘What is identity?' he says, and before Dodie can formulate an answer he's off again. ‘Identity is made up of personality, self-image, attitude, memory, aspiration and appearance – yes?'

Dodie considers, nods. That seems about it.

Hannah comes forward, sits beside Dodie and takes one of her hands. ‘Let's look at your identity, Dodie.' Dodie pulls her hand away. ‘I see your nails are painted green.'

‘So?'

‘What does that say?'

‘I dunno. That I like green?'

‘I think it says you're a little unconventional: arty maybe?'

Dodie shrugs.

‘Now, why do you need to display this to other people?'

‘I don't
need
–'

‘A little display. A little
posture
.'

‘So?'

Hannah smiles but there's a sharpness in her eyes, a narrowing. ‘It's just an example of the work you – anyone out there – must put into maintaining identity, the work of it, to work so hard to keep up, to keep up the identity; the work so hard, the effort so tremendous, the years, the years,
the lifetime of effort to hold yourself separate. Green polish, the edges you construct, the way you hold yourself apart, the separation.'

Dodie forces a laugh. ‘What a fuss about a bit of nail polish!' But her voice sounds phoney, nasal. ‘Look at you!' she says, and feels Rebecca flinch beside her but she can't stop herself. ‘You have your own hands and hair and mind and your voice and' – Oh God, the jeering voice pours out of her, can't stop now – ‘you preach away to me but
you
're still
you
. And you,' she adds to the Mask.

Hannah smirks at the Mask. ‘Finished?' she says to Dodie.

Dodie breathes and swallows, her heart hammers, her hands are wet; she looks at the green nails, how stupid they look, ten little exclamations: Look at me! I'm Me! I'm quirky! Arty!

‘See, I wear the mask,' the Mask says, smoothly, soothingly, into the prickling silence, ‘just for that, just to set myself free from the tyranny of expression, facial expression, and of inflicting that expression and the messages it sends – oh so many – witting and unwitting – that taint the words I say.
Of course
I can't get rid of all signs of human identity, you're not wrong, but I can minimize. The mask minimises – do you see? – the expressions of identity. Identity is the enemy of soul; that is the founding principle of Soul-Life. So thank you, Dodie, for your question.'

‘I'm tired. I need to phone home. I want to see my brother and get out of here.' Dodie's voice has become tetchy and childish.

‘You want to persuade your brother to give up his new-found peace?'

‘No.' Dodie stops, because, yes, of course, that is exactly what she wants. ‘Well, it all depends. I just want to hear from him that he wants to be here, and if he
really
does, I'll leave him. Then I'll go home to Rod and Jake.'

‘Jake, ah yes, your son.' The Mask is bowed for a moment, hesitating. ‘And?'

‘What?'

‘What else do you want from life?'

Dodie shrugs. ‘Ordinary things. Living. Enjoying life. Watching Jake grow up. Another baby. Travel maybe.' Dodie stops, it sounds thin, even to herself. ‘I know it sounds trivial,' she says, ‘but it's not when you're in it.'

‘Exactly,' the Mask says, throwing out his arms triumphantly. ‘That is the nature of the trap. You can't see it till you're out of it. Here you have a chance – wow, Sister, think of it – you have a chance to see it from the outside in. You have a chance to escape.'

‘But even if I wanted to, I could never leave Jake,' she says. ‘Not in a million years. Not for anything.'

‘What if Jake came here?' Hannah suggests.

‘No! Rod would go ballistic. And no –
don't
even think of suggesting that he comes too.' She laughs at the idea.

The Mask stands up and holds out his hand. ‘Great to meet you, Sister.' He encloses her thumb in his palm and squeezes. Hannah opens the door and they all step out into the corridor. The Mask lopes off and turns a corner, out of sight.

‘Before anything else, I want you to take instruction,' Hannah says, and holds her finger up to silence Dodie. ‘It's what Seth wishes. Martha talked to him this morning. He said he'd see you later,
if
you take instruction. He needs you to understand where he's coming from.'

‘I do understand.'

‘Do you now?' Hannah's tone is mocking. ‘Well, you need to understand better then, don't you? It's the only way.'

The way Hannah looks into her face, it's as if someone's riffling through her mind.

Dodie pulls her gaze away. ‘What time is it?' she says. ‘See, I must ring before Jake's bedtime.'
What if I screamed?
she wonders.

‘After this.' Hannah keys in her code.

‘But Martha said –'

‘Martha's busy.'

‘If you just let me phone, then I could relax. I do want to learn more,' she adds, ‘it's just that –'

Rebecca goes in, but Hannah puts her hand on Dodie's arm. She pushes the door almost shut again, with her foot.

‘All's fine at home, no worries.'

‘What?'

‘Rod phoned. Martha spoke to him.'

‘What?'

‘Shhh.' Hannah puts her finger to her lips.

‘But why didn't you say? Why didn't she fetch me?'

‘No need. He just wanted to know that you're OK. He said to tell you to take your time, enjoy the break. He's taking Jake to visit his mother – in Inverness, right?'

‘Really?' Dodie stares at her. ‘But he never visits his mum.'

Hannah raises her sharp shoulders in a shrug. ‘That's what he said.'

‘But
I
wanted to speak to him.'

‘Anyway, you can relax now, can't you?'

‘Not really.'

Hannah raises her sparse eyebrows. Dodie presses her fists to her eyes; she can't think straight. Her mind is so tired. She longs to sleep, to shut her eyes; maybe
then
she could think properly. If she sits down to meditate she'll probably fall asleep, and that wouldn't be bad, a rest from thinking just for a little while.

‘If he rings again before I leave,
please
tell me.'

‘Yes. Of course. Now, in you go.' Hannah gives her a little shove into the room and shuts the door behind her.

S
he recovers her balance in a roomful of kneeling people, all eyes closed, expressions rapt. A man with a mask stands at the front, speaking softly. This one sounds South African. He doesn't falter in his flow of words, but tilts his head, indicating that she should sit. John is there, looking very pale, and Daniel, both seated near the front. Dodie spots Rebecca at the back and settles down beside her on a kneeling stool.

Let the edges go, let go the edges.

Her heart scrambles against her ribs. Rod gone to his mum's? Well, that's good. When she gets back she'll go too, she'll go and stay in the little bungalow with its chilly view over the Moray Forth. Sometimes you can see dolphins, Jean said, the only time they visited her, when Dodie was about six months pregnant. They'd stood in a row at the window, a cup of tea apiece, gazing expectantly at the glassy grey surface of the water. If she could be there now, eating a scone with bramble jelly. A long growl comes from her stomach and she looks sideways at Rebecca, but she has her eyes clamped shut. Jake giggles when her tummy rumbles.

Let go the pain of edges, let go the immense effort of holding yourself separate.

She looks down at her stupid nails and winces, curls her fists to hide the green. She misses the green watchstrap, can't prevent herself looking at her wrist. It's a nervous tic, tickless, hee-hee. What time is it? How adrift you feel if you don't know the time. If only there were windows so you could see the daylight or the dark. It can't be healthy; it's like living underground. Don't you need sunlight to make Vitamin A? Or is it D?
Let go the edges
. And time is full of edges, edges to the hours, edges to the minutes, edges to every second, what if there were no edges? Dizzying, the sudden expanse of time all washing loose. What is it, time?

Your separation is an illusion. Your separate self, illusory. All the soul pain of holding yourself so separate, let it go
.

Is time a thing? Or is anything?
Let it go, let it go
. Her eyes want to shut, so sleepy. She tries to block the incantation from her mind but the rhythm is lulling, soothing, insistent, and despite herself, her mind seems to like it, wants to listen, to go with it. Think about Jake, the best thing, what? The day of his birth, the overwhelming pain of that separation, outrageous, nothing you could be prepared for, utter agony that afterwards seemed beautiful and pure, the wet head, sticky hair and furious screwed-up little face and how her heart came out of herself as he came out of her and has never been her own ever since.

The pain of owning
.
The pain of keeping the things you own, the pain of edges.

Tiny Jake in Rod's strong arms, the love flowing from his eyes for
her
. ‘Thank you,' he said simply. ‘Thank you for this.' And so he had a son, and then it all collapsed around her. Seth would come round, smelling of school, and sit in the dim beside her, but she couldn't even smile at him.

Let go the edges that separate you from the sea of soul. Let go the pain of edges.

Yes, OK then, she lets it go, just for now, just for this moment and she listens to the words and feels herself let go.

At some point the voice stops. And at some point it begins again, or perhaps it's a different voice, but what does it matter? They are all the same voice ultimately. It's hard sometimes to know if the words are still going on or if they are only reverberating in her memory. The pain of edges: something cries out within her, a creature trapped inside a shell, the pain of edges.

At some point they all rise, it's easy just to let herself be guided. They leave the room and walk as one body down the corridor, soft feet soft on the smooth floor. Someone hands her a toothbrush and they wash faces and clean their teeth and use the toilet and it means nothing and no one looks or cares and it's all so easy like that and now the idea of little secret rooms and the embarrassment of the toilet all her life seems ludicrous, funny, the lengths she'd go to so no one would ever hear her going, or smell her smells, and she finds herself giggling weakly as she sits on the toilet, lighthearted, light-headed, maybe it's the tea, but never mind, tired that's all, what time? It doesn't matter, just sleep, that's all that matters now, to sleep.

She notices a sound as she follows Rebecca and the others down a corridor and up some stairs where there's a window and it's light outside and the sound is birdsong. Morning then? The dormitory has maybe twenty beds, narrow and simple and lilac, the pillows white. There is a nightgown on the bed, everyone removes their clothes and Dodie climbs
straight into bed. She sees the others on their knees muttering prayers, thumbs clasped and then . . .