The Virtue of Sin Read online

  Blasphemy is the crime of disrespecting the laws of New Jerusalem. How is asking about Delilah an act of Blasphemy? Or is he talking about the journal? “I didn’t . . . I’m not . . . I’m just worried about Delilah. Phoebe said she wasn’t chosen at the Matrimony. What will happen to her? Please tell me.”

  “Delilah will be dealt with in a way that God deems fit.”

  This should be enough for me. Daniel is the One True Prophet; he is more than capable of taking care of Delilah. But something about the way he says “dealt with” makes my skin go tight around my skull.

  “What does that mean? Has she been . . . Banished?” I don’t wait for him to answer; I can’t. “Delilah’s young. She can attend the next Matrimony. Until then, she can live at home. And go to Lessons with the younger girls. Right?” I’m talking more than I should, more than I ever have in Daniel’s presence, but I have a growing fear of what he might say when I stop.

  He shakes his head slowly. Is he crying? “None of your Brothers were sent any dreams of Delilah. Clearly the Lord doesn’t think she is fit to be a wife. Not now, not later.”

  So their dreams do matter. This is what I suspected. But why was Delilah even called to the Matrimony if no one dreamt of her? “What if the boys made a mistake? About their dreams?” I whisper.

  He tips his head back and laughs, as if sharing a joke with God himself, though I don’t see the humor. “I see. You think the boys are incapable of understanding God’s message. And how about you? Do you think you are any better?”

  Yes! I am good at deciphering the meaning of my dreams. It is my talent, what I do best. My throat burns with the need to say it, to shout it, but the impulse is snatched by the desert air and blown away with Daniel’s next words.

  “You? A woman?” His words are like a slap.

  “I dreamt of Caleb.” I know at once I’ve gone too far. I should already be on my knees. There will be no easy forgiveness for this. But I can’t stop now. This is my last chance. My only chance. If no one else will tell him, I must. “He should be my husband. Not Aaron. We are meant to be together.”

  “Not all dreams are prophetic, Miriam. Because not all dreamers are prophets.” Though he says it quietly, there is no mistaking his anger; I can read it in the tightened cords of his neck and the curl of his lip.

  “I kn-kn-know.” I quake in the face of his fury. “Y-you are the only Pr-Prophet.”

  “And yet my word—God’s word—is still not enough for you. What happens to the Faithless, Miriam? Those who question the authority of the Lord?”

  This is another one of those traps, I can sense it, but I answer anyway. I can’t help myself. “They will be Banished. Thrown out in the desert, where they will wander like animals. For seven years. But I’m not—”

  “Have you ever been to the middle of the desert, Miriam? In daylight. Alone. With no food or water?”

  He knows I haven’t.

  I open my mouth, but my answer is choked by a cloudful of dust, as the hot wind kicks up and scratches at my face with sandy fingers.

  “It’s a lot like Hell.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s not what I’m saying. It’s what you’re saying.” He paces in front of me, slow, controlled steps that take him just far enough to blind me with the sunlight, then plunge me back into sightless shadow.

  I blink furiously, but all I see is a bright pinprick surrounded by darkness.

  “It sounds like you want a divorce,” he continues. “And divorce is a sin.” He pauses with the sun burning over his shoulder so I have to shield my eyes. “Sinners are cast out. I’m afraid the Lord is clear on this. My hands are tied.”

  “Fine.” I raise my chin. “Send me Out, then. Delilah and I can go together.”

  “So impulsive.” He shakes his head. “Death, rather than marriage? Is that what the Lord would want?”

  Death? Is this what will happen to my good friend? My heart stutters in fear, but I push on. “Not everyone out there dies. What about Aaron and his family? And Naomi.”

  He tilts his head. “You still don’t understand. Locked Outside the gates, with no food or water? With only the slim hope of God’s mercy? If an Elder like Naomi didn’t have the faith to survive, what chance have you?”

  Something breaks inside me, the pain as much for Rachel’s loss as for my dying dreams. In all the stories we’d made up about Naomi’s Banishment, this was the one ending we’d never spoken of. “Naomi is . . . dead? Does Rachel know?”

  He ignores both questions, but finally answers another. “Delilah isn’t being Banished. She will be sent away for Counseling and Education. If she is found to be faithful, she will return.”

  “That’s not fair! She doesn’t even get a choice? Why do none of us get a choice?”

  Daniel leans in, our foreheads touching. “But you do, don’t you? Tell the truth. Did you speak to him?”

  I jerk back, cracking my head against the wall. The fabric of my head scarf snags on the rough cement and pulls free. My vision goes bright and then dim, and Daniel’s face is a fuzzy blur surrounded by a halo of sunlight. “Caleb?” I ask, grasping at his question through the cotton in my head.

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  The world snaps back into focus, but both the words and the face are those of a stranger, not our loving leader.

  “Aaron,” he says. “Did you speak to Aaron?”

  “He’s my husband. I’m allowed. That’s always been the rule.” As Susanna pointed out, there are some benefits to marriage within our community. But my speaking has gotten me into trouble once again. “Wait.” I hold out my palm, but I don’t dare touch him. “If we hadn’t spoken on our wedding night, would that have made a difference? Because all we did was talk. And very little at that. We didn’t consum—”

  “No, no, foolish girl.” He slaps my hand away. “Before the Matrimony. Did you speak to him before?”

  Suddenly everything I need to know is in those six little words, soft and disappointed, like wilting flower petals. I go cold, as if the sun has slipped from the sky the way my life has slipped off its expected Path.

  The speakers crackle to life above us, calling us to Prayer, and we fall to our knees as one. I don’t need the recitation of scripture, harsh and blistering in my ear, to know this is all my doing. Daniel’s strong voice leads me through Bible passage after Bible passage, as my transgressions and my guilt build until I can no longer breathe beneath them. My knees ache until the ache becomes a constant burn; my tongue dries until the mere act of speaking cracks my lips. He trembles beside me, and his voice grows hoarse, but he does not leave me or slow our prayer, not even when the turkey vultures circle overhead.

  13

  CALEB

  I get caught outside for the Call to Prayer. I manage to duck under the shade of the Pavilion, so I’m not burnt, but churned-up sand dusts my body, and my throat feels like I tried to swallow a fire. I need water and a shower—in that order—but before anything else I have to talk to Daniel.

  Cool air washes over me like divine intervention when I open the doors to the Council House. As I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I try again to sort through what Marcus said. He was counseled to choose Rachel, but he chose Susanna instead. Because he dreamt of her. And now he’s married to Susanna. But he’s been assigned Janitorial Duty, the lowest of all Vocations. Aaron dreamt of either Susanna or Rachel or Miriam, depending on whom you ask. And he is married to Miriam. With no repercussions, other than the blow I landed on him. Does that mean God is pleased with their union? No. He can’t be. And what about Jacob? I have no idea whose name God sent to him, but he called Rachel’s. These are the facts. No matter how much I twist them or how hard I beat at them, they don’t come together.

  And then there is my wrongdoing.

  “Did you need something, Caleb?”

  I
blink and step farther into the room, wiping grit from my eyes. It’s Susanna, sitting at the desk outside Daniel’s office.

  My skin tightens to gooseflesh, and not because of the air-conditioning. “What are you doing here?”

  She tosses a wave of golden hair over her shoulder. “I was assigned as Daniel’s secretary,” she says, picking up a pencil. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Something stirs inside me as she sticks the end of the pencil in her mouth and ever so gently bites down on the eraser. She smells like flowers and soap, and I’m gritty and tired and in no mood for her games. I clear my throat. “I don’t need an appointment,” I tell her. “I’m his Security Officer. He’ll . . . he’ll want to speak to me.”

  “Maybe. But he’s not here.” She stretches, arching her back, so that I have to look away before I start to think about her and Marcus. Together.

  “Daniel is praying.” She leans forward, as if she’s letting me in on a secret. “With a sinner. It may even lead to a public Shaming.” Her face has the appropriate concerned expression, but her tone is gleeful. Normally, I’d ask who it is, but I don’t want to spend another second in Susanna’s presence. Especially now that I know she’s partly the reason I’m alone.

  “I’ll just wait in his office,” I say, walking past her before she can protest. What could she possibly do to keep me out, anyway?

  Daniel keeps his Inner Sanctum dark, velvet curtains the color of dusk drawn against the sun. Thick carpet muffles my footsteps and cushions the solid wood of the desk and chairs. The office itself is small, almost cramped, and despite the heat a fire burns in the hearth. It reminds me of the Marriage Cave, which may be his intention. Daniel believes strongly in symbolism.

  Today, I’m more interested in answers.

  “My servant, Caleb. ‘He has a different spirit and has followed me fully.’”

  I let out a hard bark of surprise. I didn’t hear Daniel come in, yet when I turn he looks as if he’s been waiting for me, not the other way around. The only signs to the contrary are the redness of his face and the sand clinging to his beard and hair.

  I rush to the adjoining bathroom to get him a glass of water. He accepts it with a “Bless you, Brother,” and gulps it loudly, water streaming down his beard and wetting his shirt so I can see his chest hair through the fabric.

  When he left me last night, he was disappointed, perhaps even angry. But his familiar greeting has given me hope. Maybe there is still a way to make this right.

  When he finally stops for breath, wiping his mouth, he says, “I was expecting you earlier. What revelations have you achieved?”

  I don’t know how to start. He wants the answers I received from God, through prayer. But God was mostly silent last night. And I want, no, I need Daniel to tell me something that makes all of this make sense. That he knows what Marcus and Aaron have done, and that he is going to make it right. That he is going to let me be with Miriam. But the fear that he won’t holds me back from asking.

  Instead I say, “I talked to Aaron. He says that he heard Miriam’s name, too. Is that possible?”

  “Are you asking me if God makes mistakes?”

  “N-no. I know he doesn’t,” I stammer. In my head, I hear the whisper once more. Delilah.

  Daniel stares at me for a long time, unblinking. I can’t match his intensity, so instead I watch a drop of sweat roll slowly down his cheek and drip onto his collar, my own neck growing hotter and hotter. If God doesn’t make mistakes, what does that mean? God sent me dreams of Miriam, night after night. And in my Dream Sessions, Daniel assured me we were meant for each other. But God also whispered a different name to me at the Matrimony. It can’t all be true. But if it comes from God, it also can’t be wrong.

  “How do we know what is God’s will?” I ask, my voice cracking. “And what is . . . someone else’s?”

  Daniel raises an eyebrow, first at me, then at his reflection in the mirror behind the desk. “Why are you here, Caleb?” he asks. “In New Jerusalem?”

  This is my home. I was born here, I almost say. But that isn’t what he’s asking. I pull up the words I remember from a thousand Lessons. “We’re here to follow the Word of Daniel on the Path to Righteousness,” I say, and the rest comes automatically. “‘Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of Heaven, and those who lead many to righteousness will shine like the stars for ever and ever.’”

  “Excellent.” He holds up a finger as he takes another drink. “And you, Brother? Do you think you’re wise?”

  This is an insult, and my neck grows even hotter.

  Before I can answer, Daniel continues. “If one is not gifted with wisdom, what other path is available?”

  It sounds like a riddle, and I’ve never been good at riddles.

  “Leadership,” he continues. “If you can’t be wise, you must lead others to righteousness. It’s right there in the verse.” He slams the glass down on his desk, and I wince at the unexpected show of emotion. “Are you questioning my leadership, Caleb?”

  “Of course not,” I say. “It’s just Marcus told me—

  “Marcus,” Daniel interrupts, his voice mocking. “Tell me, Caleb, do you deserve happiness? More than Marcus?”

  It’s as if he knows what Marcus and I talked about, and he’s using my own words to trap me. None of us deserve happiness more than anyone else. But at the same time, no one deserves it less, either. Maybe what he’s really asking is: What kind of man resents the happiness of someone he loves?

  “The devil takes many shapes. A coyote, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Sometimes even a brother.” He pins me in place with his hypnotic gaze, and I struggle not to blink. What is he saying? Does he think I’m the devil?

  Daniel moves to the fireplace and picks up a poker to tease a log at the bottom of the pile. It shifts, and an ember catches my wrist. I try not to wince as he turns to look at me. “There is no room here for the Faithless,” he says, repeating his words from last night.

  Unlike last night, this time I summon the strength to answer him. “I am not Faithless.”

  “I want to believe you,” he says, “but our enemies are looking for a crack. Evidence that I am weak.” He inches closer as he speaks, his anger palpable, so strong it edges out my own. “How will it look if someone on my very own Security team is asking questions about the Matrimony? Telling my flock that he is unhappy because I misinterpreted all their dreams? That I sanctioned the wrong marriages?”

  He moves closer still, until I am backed up against the desk, pinned by his hot, sour breath. Like the cornered animal I am, I don’t see the trap until too late. It was never a choice between sacrificing my happiness or my Brothers’. It’s Daniel and Miriam I must choose between.

  “Caleb?”

  If God doesn’t make mistakes, if Daniel, the One True Prophet, is infallible, then the marriages must be upheld. All of them. No matter how they were chosen. Since I’ve already betrayed Daniel by questioning his leadership, it’s only fitting my punishment should be giving up Miriam. It doesn’t matter what my Brothers did, or what I want. What matters is Daniel’s law.

  Something gives way inside me. I can’t tell if it’s a breaking or a letting go. “I understand,” I say.

  “Miriam was never right for you anyway. From the lips of an adulteress drips honey.”

  My blood heats, and my muscles tense. She isn’t an adulteress. Still, now I can’t get the picture of her lips covered in honey out of my head. And I can’t look Daniel in the eye.

  He circles me. “Her speech is smoother than oil.” The words hit like a slap.

  She does quote scripture smoothly. No. I clench my fists. “It isn’t like that. We didn’t do anything wrong.” Even as I say it, I wonder what he knows.

  “Not you, my Brother. Her.” He makes one more, tight circle around me, then stops and lifts my chin. “She was with Aaron. Be
fore the Matrimony. Did she tell you that?”

  I shake my head. “No. That’s not poss—” But he forces me to look at him, and there I see the truth. His anger. Susanna’s glee.

  Miriam is the sinner he prayed with.

  “Do not blame yourself. This is the way of the adulteress. She deceives you as she deceives us all.”

  How could I have misjudged her? The connection we had? Why was she with him? What did they do?

  “Forget her,” Daniel says, with a flick of his hand. As if it’s that easy. “We have important work to do, and she is not a part of it.”

  Even as I mourn, a tiny part of me takes hope in his use of the word we.

  “There is a coyote in our midst,” he continues. “Here, in the city. I need you to find him and bring him to me.” He returns to his desk, pausing before he sits. “But first, there is the matter of Delilah.”

  “Delilah?” My heart stills. I’ve given up Miriam. Isn’t that enough? Dear God, please don’t make me—

  “Yes, Delilah. She was not chosen, so I’m making arrangements for her to be sent Out. For Education. It will take me a few days to locate a place for her. When I do, I will need you to provide Security for her exit.” He looks down at his desk and waves at the door. “That is all.”

  I stumble from the room, feeling weak from relief. Or maybe it’s just freedom from the burden of everything I’ve given up.

  14

  MIRIAM

  BEWARE OF FALSE PROPHETS WHO COME TO YOU IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING BUT INWARDLY ARE RAVENOUS WOLVES.

  —Matthew 7:15

  Aaron jumps to his feet when I enter the apartment. The dark circles under his eyes and his swollen lower lip make me finally understand the expression “suffer the consequences.” I’ve created these consequences, and this punishment is one we all must endure.