LITMIR.BIZ

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      The voice was nasal, drawling.

      My father turned to face him. ‘Ezekiel.’

      ‘Come on now, no need for that tone. Time to let bygones be bygones. I have forgiven you for your sins against me, Shepherd Moonlight. I know that messengers of evil poisoned your mind towards me. The Lord sure does test us, doesn’t he?’

      ‘So where did you go when you left Malaysia, Ezekiel? Straight here? I suppose I should have guessed.’

      ‘Yes,’ Ezekiel replied. ‘The excommunication was taken to a higher level. No offence, brother, but you were wrong to do that. Your seniors thought so too once they’d heard the truth. They told me it was all hush-hush, to come here and start over. Away from mind-poisoning liars like you.’

      My father shook his head in disbelief. In the past few weeks he’d arrived in a new country to find his family had nowhere to live, he’d been told to feed his kids by faith alone in a country with a radically different faith, and he’d seen a man he had thought had been excommunicated firmly still a member of The Family. In the past he’d had doubts, even wondered what it was all for. Now he felt blind fury.

      For the first time since they had left France he was able to go home, stand in his kitchen and tell his wife exactly how he felt. Neither of them had to go share another’s bed that night; no one could overhear them, no one was going to report on them. As he vented his rage she stood behind him massaging his shoulders. When he finished she cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him. ‘Don’t feed your anger. Find the victory, my love.’

      He put his hands on her heavily pregnant belly. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe they were right to forgive Ezekiel if he repented. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.’

      She kissed the top of his head gently. ‘Why don’t we go pray? Children, come. I want us all to pray for Ezekiel and his family.’

      We gathered in the kitchen, got down on our knees and did as she asked. As I prayed a vision of Clay floated into my mind. I flirted with the idea of telling them about the abuse. There was nothing to lose now and I was quite sure that they wouldn’t accuse me of lying. But I let the thought go, deciding that telling them wouldn’t change anything.

      For a couple more months we bumbled along, hungry and worried about the future, but generally OK. Without the stress of other aunties and uncles monitoring our behaviour both my parents relaxed our usual discipline. One morning Mom took us completely by surprise. She was cooking a gratin for dinner but had run out of milk.

      ‘Darlings, why don’t you go fetch me some? Don’t go far, just to that little shack two streets along, you know the one. Do not talk to anyone and come right back. Daddy will be home soon and this needs to be ready for him. Matt, you will be in charge. You make sure you all hold hands. OK?’

      He nodded, his face a picture of excitement. She handed us a few coins and sent us on our way. It was astonishing. The only time any of us had been outside without adult supervision was back in Thailand when Matt and Marc had wandered outside to look at some birds. They were caught by an uncle and thrashed. I couldn’t think of a single time I had gone out alone.

      The four of us practically danced down the street. Fields of rice paddies surrounded the dirt road, and buffaloes wandered by, kicking clouds of dirt into the air with their hooves. Even when a man cycled past us wearing a pointed straw hat I didn’t flinch. Our new-found freedom was more emboldening than scary. We turned left into the road, then right again and into a tiny local bazaar made up of a glass-fronted shop selling systemite medicines in little white boxes. Next to it was a wooden shack selling tins of food, milk powder, boxes of crisps and fresh fruit. Behind it, humming loudly, was a large refrigerator. I didn’t like it. I pulled Vincent away, half expecting it to open and snatch us. Matt had taken on an air of seriousness as he pointed at the fridge and spoke to the man standing beside the shack. ‘Fresh milk, please.’

      I was in awe. Where did he learn to do that?

      Matt fished in his pocket and handed the man all the coins. The man counted them, then handed Matt some back. Matt looked confused and handed them back over. The man gave them back, laughing as spoke in broken English: ‘No. Too much. This change.’

      Matt looked at the coins he’d been given, then at us, then back at the coins. ‘No,’ he muttered to himself, placing them back in his pocket. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’

      I grabbed his hand, Vincent hanging onto mine. We’d barely got to the corner when Matt stopped, telling us to wait. He took the coins back out of his pocket, placed them in his palm and stared at them again. He looked at Marc questioningly.

      Marc understood exactly: ‘Yeah, why not? She won’t know. Not if we don’t tell her.’

      We walked back to the stand, eyeing the goods in wonderment. By now it was obvious to Vincent and me that Matt intended to spend the change. My eyes lingered greedily on a packet of chewy sweets in a pink candy-striped wrapper.

      Matt held out our booty to the man. He put the coins in his pocket, chuckling to himself, before handing over a little carton of yoghurt drink. He fished under his counter and pulled out a yellow plastic straw. ‘Here. Take.’

      Matt carefully opened it, put the straw inside and took a long sip. ‘Oh yummy, this is gooood.’

      Next he handed it to Marc. ‘In age order, OK? No one be greedy and no one spill it. OK, Vincent? Be careful.’

      One by one we took a careful sip, nodding and grinning at each other.

      When we’d drained the carton of every last drop we walked home in a gleeful silence. As we neared the house Matt stopped us again.

      ‘No one says anything. Right? This is our secret. Ours.’

      We nodded at him reverentially, our new leader.

      When we got home my dad was already there. He was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Mom was peeling potatoes, but she was also crying.

      I ran over to my father, pushing myself onto his lap. ‘Daddy. What’s happened?’

      He stared up at me with exhausted, dejected eyes. ‘We are being deported, Natacha. We have to go to France.’

      ‘France? I don’t understand what you mean. Why do we have to go?’

      His eyes met my mother’s. They looked at each other for a very long time before he spoke: ‘Because the system found us, that’s why.’

Chapter 12

       The Devil’s Land

      I’ve never been afraid of flying. When you are raised believing you will die in a glorious battle with the forces of Satan, a bumpy landing isn’t much to be scared of. But I still squeezed the arm-rests as we touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. My father gave me a reassuring smile as we taxied across the tarmac.

      ‘It’ll be all right, Natacha.’

      I wasn’t so sure.

      Paris looked like a catacomb from the air – a dark labyrinth filled with unknown dangers.

      I should have been dead already. According to Grandpa, God felt we had failed to adequately serve him or demonstrate the necessary faith. But now Grandpa was dead and Mama Maria had taken over the leadership. Through God’s mercy she told us the Apocalypse was rescheduled for 1996.

      But here we were, heading straight into the belly of the Beast.

      ‘Bonjour.’

      My father handed our passports to the uniformed man behind the counter. I gripped my mother’s hand and stared down at the floor.

      ‘Mademoiselle?’ I knew he was addressing me, but I didn’t look up.

      ‘Mademoiselle?’

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