Page 108 of The Running Grave

In subtle and not so subtle ways, an apocalyptic note began to creep into the critiques of materialism and social inequality with which new recruits were being bombarded. The lack of contact with the outside world served to heighten the sense of being in a bunker, with church members delivering regular bulletins on the horrors of the Syrian war and the slow death of the planet. A sense of increasing urgency permeated these briefings: only the awoken could possibly head off global catastrophe, because the bubble people were continuing, selfishly and apathetically, to hasten humanity’s doom.

Papa J and the UHC were now openly described as the world’s best hope. Though Wace hadn’t appeared since the first dinner, Robin knew he was still present at the farm because church members made frequent mention of the fact in hushed, reverent voices. The infrequency of his appearances seemed to fuel rather than quench his followers’ adoration. Robin assumed he was holed up in the farmhouse, eating separately from the mass of members who, in spite of the church’s stated allegiance to organically produced and ethically sourced food, ate meals largely composed of cheap dehydrated noodles, with small amounts of protein coming in the form of processed meat and cheese.

On Wednesday morning, Mazu Wace, who unlike her husband was often to be seen gliding through the courtyard, conducted a joint session in the temple with Fire Group and Wood Group. A circle of lacquered chairs had been placed on the central pentagon-shaped stage, and when all had taken their seats, Mazu gave a brief speech about the need for spiritual death and rebirth which, she said, could only take place once past pain and delusion had been accepted, healed or renounced. She then invited the group members to share injustices or cruelties perpetuated on them by family members, partners or friends.

After some prompting, people began to volunteer their stories. A young member of Wood Group called Kyle, who was thin and nervy-looking, gave a detailed account of his father’s furious reaction on hearing that his son was gay. As he told the group how his mother had sided with her husband against him, he broke down and cried. The rest of the group murmured support and sympathy while Mazu sat in silence, and when Kyle had finished his story, she summarised it while eradicating any words relating to familial relationships, substituting the terms ‘flesh object’ and ‘materialist possession’, then said,

‘Thank you for being brave enough to share your story, Kyle. Pure spirits are untouchable by materialist harms. I wish you a hasty death of the false self. When that’s gone, your hurt and your suffering will depart, also.’

One by one, the other group members began to talk. Some were clearly struggling with profound hurt caused by outside relationships, or the lack of them, but Robin couldn’t avoid the suspicion that some were dredging up and even exaggerating trauma, so as to fit in better with the group. When invited by Mazu to contribute, Robin told the story of her cancelled wedding and her family’s disappointment, and admitted that her fiancé’s abandonment had left her bereft, particularly as she’d given up her job to go travelling with him once they were husband and wife.

Those in the circle, many of whom were already tearful after sharing their own stories, offered commiseration and sympathy, but Mazu told Robin that placing importance on professions was to connive at systems of control perpetuated within the bubble world.

‘A sense of identity based on jobs, or any of the trappings of the bubble world, is inherently materialist,’ she said. ‘When we firmly reject the cravings of the ego and begin nourishing the spirit, hurts disappear and the true self can emerge, a self that will no longer care if flesh objects pass out of its life.’

Mazu turned last to a skinny girl with a heart-shaped face who’d remained conspicuously silent. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and her legs were crossed, the upper foot hooked behind her lower.

‘Would you like to share with the group how you’ve suffered through materialist possession?’

In a voice that shook slightly, the girl replied:

‘I haven’t suffered anything.’

Mazu’s dark, crooked eyes contemplated her.

‘Nothing at all?’

‘No, nothing.’

Robin judged the girl to be in her late teens. Her face was reddening slightly under the censorious scrutiny of the circle.

‘My family’s never done me any harm,’ she said. ‘I know some people here have had really awful things happen to them, but I haven’t. I haven’t,’ she repeated, with a shrug of her stiff shoulders.

Robin could feel the group’s animosity towards the girl as surely as if they’d declared it openly, and willed her not to speak again, to no avail.

‘And I don’t think it’s right to call, like, parents loving their kids “materialist possession”,’ she blurted out. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think it is.’

Several group members, including Amandeep, now spoke up at once. Mazu intervened, and gestured to Amandeep to continue alone.

‘There’s a power dynamic in all conventional family structures,’ he said. ‘You can’t deny there isn’t coercion and control, even if it’s well intentioned.’

‘Well, little children need boundaries,’ said the girl.

Most of the group now spoke up simultaneously, some of them clearly angry. Vivienne, the girl with spiky black hair who was usually at pains to sound as working class as possible, spoke loudest, and others fell silent to let her carry on.

‘What you call “boundaries” is the justification for abuse, right, in my family’s case it was abuse, and when you say fings like that, you don’t just invalidate the experiences of people who’ve been ’armed, actively ’armed, by their parents’ desire to control them –’ Kyle was vigorously nodding ‘– you’re perpetuating and propping up the same damn systems of control that some of us are trying to escape, OK? So you ’aven’t suffered, well, bully for you, but maybe listen and learn from people who have, OK?’

There was much muttering in agreement. Mazu said nothing, letting the group deal with the dissident themselves. For the first time, Robin thought she saw a genuine smile on the woman’s face.

The girl with the heart-shaped face was openly ostracised that afternoon by other members of Fire Group. Robin, who wished she could have muttered some words of kindness or support, copied the majority and ignored her.

Their twenty-four-hour fast began on Wednesday evening. Robin received only a cup of hot water flavoured with lemon at dinner time. Looking around at the other recruits, she realised that only Fire, Wood and Earth groups were undertaking the fast; Metal and Water groups had been served the usual slop of boiled vegetables and noodles. Robin thought it unlikely that Metal and Water groups could have failed Dr Zhou’s physical assessment en masse. From muttered comments uttered by her fellow fasters, some of whom were sitting nearby, Robin gathered they saw themselves as worthier than those being fed, seeming to consider the forthcoming twenty-four hours of enforced starvation a badge of honour.

Robin woke next day, which was the last of her seven-day retreat, after a few hours’ sleep that had been disrupted by the gnawing hunger pains in her stomach. Tonight was the night she was supposed to find the plastic rock at the boundary of the farm, the thought of which made her feel simultaneously excited and scared. She hadn’t yet attempted to leave her dormitory by night, and was apprehensive not only about being intercepted on the way to the woods, but finding her way to the right spot in the dark.

After breakfast, which for the three fasting groups consisted of another cup of hot water with lemon, all recruits were reunited for the second time since being sorted into groups on arrival, then led by church members into the left wing of the farmhouse. Inside was an empty, stone-paved room, in the middle of which was a steep wooden staircase leading into the basement.

Below lay a wood-panelled room that Robin thought must run almost the length of the farmhouse above. Two doors on the left-hand side showed the basement space extended even further than was currently visible. There was a stage at the opposite end from the staircase, in front of a screen almost as large as the one in the Rupert Court Temple. Subdued lighting came from spotlights and the floor was covered in rush matting. The recruits were instructed to sit down on the floor facing the stage, and Robin was irresistibly reminded of being back at primary school. Some of the recruits had difficulty complying with the order, including Walter Fernsby, who nearly toppled over onto his neighbour as he lowered himself in stiff and ungainly fashion onto the floor.