Blinded By The Light - Sherry Ashworth

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But now was hardly the time to ask. Somebody came to help Nick up from where he’d been kneeling over the bath of water. At the same time a girl left the benches and came to the water. She was quite striking to look at, with high cheekbones, masses of reddish, curly hair, a good figure, but slightly gawky – or maybe she was just moving in a nervous way.

      “I, Auriel Beaven, permitted malicious gossip to be spoken in my presence. I didn’t have the courage to stop the backbiting – it was about my line manager at work – because it was true. I happen to know my boss does those things that her colleagues accused her of. So I wasn’t sure whether to agree with the truth or stop the bad feeling.”

      She seemed really upset.

      “I regret my confusion,” she continued, “and ask for clarity of mind and purpose in the future. And when I washed the floor today, I accidentally made a dirty smudge afterwards, when I was carrying out the water, and didn’t go back to clean it. For this I am truly sorry.”

      “We trust you will be forgiven,” Fletcher muttered.

      “And I had unlawful thoughts. I wanted to eat today, I wanted more than my fair share and looked enviously at the portions of others. I’ve vowed to give up all food containing sugar, but I doubt my own intentions. For this may I be forgiven.”

      “You will be forgiven,” Fletcher said, this time loudly. Auriel flinched, and, trembling, returned to her seat. Well, I thought, there’s always one weirdo in the pack.

      One by one, more White Ones came to the bath to wash their hands and confess their wrongdoings. I was fascinated, hoping someone had done something really juicy. Then Bea left my side.

      “I, Beatrice Rossi, have allowed my mind to become clouded by an obsessive thought. I have prayed for that which is not permissible. I acknowledge my weakness of dwelling too much on thoughts which are bad for me. I thank the Light for the help it has given me in the past and know it will continue to do so in the future.”

      “We trust you will be forgiven.”

      It looked quite beautiful, everyone kneeling by the bath, washing their hands. I wondered if I ought to join them, although Fletcher did say I was there as an observer, so perhaps I’d better not. I asked myself what I had done that day that, theoretically, I could confess. God, it was hard to know where to begin! It depends on what you count as a sin really, and what you would say was natural. Like, your body makes certain demands, so what can you do? Is that a sin? Or leaving the washing-up for Mum and Gemma because I just couldn’t be arsed. Or thinking what a plonker Kevin is? Was my dislike of him a sin?

      Then the humming started again. One by one people retreated from the bath. The two blokes who had carried in the water lifted the bath again, and Fletcher opened a door that led outside. Everyone rose and massed around the door. The candles flickered at the rush of cold air. The water was carried out to a drain and tipped into it. Fletcher’s voice rose above the humming.

      “As the water returns to the earth we ask that our Darknesses of spirit, thought and action return to their source, and we can move on unencumbered to the path of Light.”

      More silence except for the sound of gurgling water. Then everyone began to hug each other, murmuring something.

      Bea hugged me. “Peace and Perfection,” she said.

      I said it back. Then a bloke hugged me. We exchanged the greeting of Peace and Perfection. I think I was hugged five or six times. It was like a match when you score a goal. These were hugs of friendship, of being on the same side. Sure, it was odd, but kind of nice.

      Then everyone chanted, “I believe in truth, in purity, in wholeness. I believe in goodness, in right, in light. I ask for the power of the Light to enter my body and soul… May it be my lot to achieve Perfection… I will stay by the fountain of Light… May it be my lot to achieve Perfection. May it be your lot to achieve Perfection. To the One, to the Light – salaam, shalom, peace. Peace be with you.”

      Then they – we – let go of each other’s hands and kissed our fingertips. Bea turned to me and placed her kissed fingertips on my lips, lightly. The tingle travelled from my lips to every part of me. Weird. But good.

      We sat again. I looked round at everyone. They didn’t seem so strange any more. Because we’d all taken part in something I felt connected to them. And yet. And yet. The truth was, I envied them. They had something I wanted – I couldn’t have put it better than that. Yes. I wanted whatever it was they had.

       6. From Rendall’s Parables: The Tale of the Brothers

       In a distant land dwelt a young man who loved his village. Every day, accompanied by his two younger brothers, he walked through its streets, greeting its inhabitants. Yet those that lived in the village reviled him; they spoke of him and his brothers as mad.

       The day came when a bird settled on his shoulder, singing him a song of freedom and light. It sang of a land far away where all those he met would greet him with love and acceptance. So the bird led the young men from the village through the barren lands out to sea. Here was a boat packed with provisions, and the young man and his brothers set sail.

       They sailed for a year and a day. One night the sky darkened and there was a storm of perilous magnitude. The sky crashed above them and the seas crashed around them. Despite the efforts of the young man, his brothers perished in the storm.

       Soon after that time the young man arrived at the place the bird had promised. And in the morning he arose, went to his new home, and knew that he was loved. And he donned his white garb, and dwelt among his brethren.

      So I kept going up to the farm, attending some Services, watching, talking. When my old mates came back from uni, I wriggled out of seeing them, except for Phil, who insisted we go out to the pub. I offered to drive so I didn’t have to drink. In fact it wasn’t too bad. The only mention I made of the White Ones was of Bea. I just talked about this girl I was seeing. Phil was only slightly interested as he was full of himself and just wanted to tell me what he’d been up to. That suited me. I didn’t want to say a lot about Bea either. I wasn’t quite certain what to do about her. Because she was training to be a White One, I had to bide my time and see how she wanted to conduct the relationship. To tell you the truth, I was a bit lost. In my other life, in the real world, I’d usually snog a girl first, then decide if I wanted to see her again. And I might or I might not. If I did, I’d suggest a film or something, and see if I could talk to her. And if I could, if I found I both fancied and liked her, then I’d go for it. Because a relationship with a girl was like a double thing, mental and physical.

      With Bea it was different. I definitely knew I fancied her, and I was pretty sure she fancied me. I caught her looking at me in a certain way. But apart from the odd squeeze of her hand, a peck on the cheek, or the sensation of her thigh pressed close to mine when we sat on a bench together, there had been nothing. Nothing physical. Instead I found myself pouring out the story of my life. She had interesting comments to make about my mates and family. I told her about Tasha too. She said some partings were inevitable, were meant to be. I found myself getting closer to Bea, but we’d never kissed, nobody acknowledged us as an item – heck, even we didn’t acknowledge ourselves as an item. Yet we were one, I was sure of it. But I didn’t want to press the point, in case she said something negative. So we drifted on, getting closer, not saying or doing anything. I thought about her most of the time, dreamed about her, thought of her as my girlfriend but couldn’t say she was. There was no one else on the farm she spent as much time with as me.

      But don’t think I only got involved with the White Ones because of Bea. There was more to it than that. Like, when I went to the farm, everyone around me was happy. You don’t realise how miserable most people are. At work, at home, at school, everyone has long faces. If you’re in a good mood, people think you’re clowning around. I read once that some bloke said most people lead lives of quiet desperation.

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