Ken Follett - The Hammer of Eden

Star said: “What do they do there?”

“Hang out on the street, talk to boys, and steal from stores.”

Priest put his hand into the box and pulled out a narrow-bodied T-shirt, blue with a single orange stripe. It was made of nylon and felt thin and trashy. It was the kind of clothing he despised: it gave no warmth or protection, and it did nothing but cover the beauty of the human body with a layer of ugliness.

With the shirt in his hand, he retreated down the stepladder. Star and Dale followed.

The two girls looked mortified.

Priest said: “Let’s go to the temple and discuss this with the group.”

By the time they got there, everyone else had assembled, children included. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting.

Priest sat in the middle, as always. The discussions were democratic in theory, and the commune had no leaders, but in practice he and Star dominated all meetings. Priest would steer the dialogue toward the outcome he wanted, usually by asking questions rather than stating a point of view. If he liked an idea, he would encourage a discussion of its benefits; if he wanted to squash a proposal, he would ask how they could be sure it would work. And if the mood of the meeting was against him, he would pretend to be persuaded, then subvert the decision later.

“Who wants to begin?” he said.

Aneth spoke up. She was a motherly type in her forties, and she believed in understanding rather than condemning. She said: “Maybe Flower and Pearl should begin, by telling us why they wanted to go to Silver City.”

“To meet people,” Flower said defiantly.

Aneth smiled. “Boys, you mean?”

Flower shrugged.

Aneth said: “Well, I guess that’s understandable … but why did you have to steal?”

“To look nice!”

Star gave an exasperated sigh. “What’s wrong with your regular clothes?”

“Mom, be serious,” Flower said scornfully.

Star leaned forward and slapped her face.

Flower gasped. A red mark appeared on her cheek.

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way,” Star said. “You’ve just been caught stealing, and I’ve had to get you out of jail, so don’t talk as if I’m the stupid one.”

Pearl started to cry.

Priest sighed. He should have seen this coming. There was nothing wrong with the clothes in the free shop. They had jeans in blue, black, or tan; denim workshirts; T-shirts in white, gray, red, and yellow; sandals and boots; heavy wool sweaters for the winter; waterproof coats for working in the rain. But the same clothes were worn by everyone, and had been for years. Of course the children wanted something different. Thirty-five years ago Priest had stolen a Beatle jacket from a boutique called Rave on San Pedro Street.

Poem said to her daughter: “Pearl, cherie , you don’t like your clothes?”

Between sobs she said: “We wanted to look like Melanie.”

“Ah,” Priest said, and he saw it all.

Melanie was still wearing the clothes she had brought here: skimpy tops that showed her midriff, miniskirts and short shorts, funky shoes and cute caps. She looked chic and sexy. It was not surprising the girls had adopted her as a role model.

Dale said: “We need to talk about Melanie.” He sounded apprehensive. Most of them were nervous about saying anything that might be seen as a criticism of Priest.

Priest felt defensive. He had brought Melanie here, and he was her lover. And she was crucial to the plan. She was the only one who could interpret the data from Michael’s disk, which had now been copied onto her laptop. Priest could not let them turn on her. “We never make people change their clothes when they join us,” he said. “They wear out their old stuff first, it’s always been the rule.”

Alaska spoke up. A former schoolteacher, she had come here with her lover, Juice, ten years ago, after they had been ostracized in the small town where they lived for coming out as lesbians. “It’s not just her clothes,” Alaska said. “She doesn’t do much work.” Juice nodded agreement.

Priest argued: “I’ve seen her in the kitchen, washing dishes and baking cookies.”

Alaska looked scared, but she persisted. “Some light domestic chores. She doesn’t work in the vineyard. She’s a passenger, Priest.”

Star saw Priest coming under attack and weighed in on his side. “We’ve had a lot of people like that. Remember what Holly was like when she first came?”

Holly had been a bit like Melanie, a pretty girl who was attracted first to Priest and then to the commune.

Holly grinned ruefully. “I admit it. I was lazy. But eventually I started to feel bad about not pulling my weight. Nobody said anything to me. I just realized I’d be happier doing my fair share.”

Now Garden spoke. A former junkie, she was twenty-five but looked forty. “Melanie’s a bad influence. She talks to the kids about pop records and TV shows and trash like that.”

Priest said: “Obviously we need to have a discussion with Melanie about this when she gets back from San Francisco. I know she’s going to be very upset when she hears what Flower and Pearl have done.”

Dale was not satisfied. “What bugs a lot of us …”

Priest frowned. This sounded as if a group of them had been talking behind his back. Jesus, have I got a full-scale rebellion on my hands? He let his displeasure show in his voice. “Well? What bugs a lot of you?”

Dale swallowed. “Her mobile phone and computer.”

There was no power line into the valley, so they had few electrical appliances; and there had grown up a kind of puritanism about things like TV and videotapes. Priest had to listen to his car radio to hear the news. They had come to look down on anything electrical. Melanie’s equipment, which she recharged at the public library in Silver City by plugging into an outlet normally used for the vacuum cleaner, had drawn some disapproving stares. Now several people nodded agreement with Dale’s complaint.

There was a special reason why Melanie had to keep her mobile and her computer. But Priest could not explain it to Dale. He was not a Rice Eater. Although he was a full member of the group and had been here for years, Priest could not be sure he would go along with the earthquake plan. He might freak.

Priest realized he had to end this. It was getting out of control. Discontented people had to be dealt with one by one, not in a collective discussion where they reinforced one another.

But before he could say anything, Poem weighed in. “Priest, is there something going on? Something you’re not telling us about? I never really understood why you and Star had to go away for two and a half weeks.”

Song, supporting Priest, said: “Wow, that’s such a mistrustful question!”

The group was falling apart, Priest could see. It was the imminent prospect of having to leave the valley. There was no sign of the miracle he had hinted at. They saw their world coming to an end.

Star said: “I thought I told everyone. I had an uncle who died and left his affairs in a tangle, and I was his only relative, so I had to help the lawyers straighten everything out.”

Enough .

Priest knew how to choke off a protest. He spoke decisively. “I feel we’re discussing these things in a bad atmosphere,” he said. “Does anyone agree with me?”

They all did, of course. Most of them nodded.

“What do we do about it?” Priest looked at his ten-year-old son, a dark-eyed, serious child. “What do you say, Ringo?”

“We meditate together,” the boy said. It was the answer any of them would give.

Priest looked around. “Does everyone approve of Ringo’s idea?”

They did.

“Then let’s make ourselves ready.”