The Virtue of Sin Page 6

  But none of that is what Daniel wants to hear now. This is always my problem: I usually know what not to say; rarely do I know the right thing.

  “I just want to fix this. I’m supposed to be with Miriam.”

  His voice sharpens to a flinty edge. “Have you spoken to her about this?”

  “No.” I squeeze the answer out the way I push out another rep on the bench press. It isn’t a lie. He’s asking about after. “I haven’t spoken to anyone since the Matrimony, other than the guards. And my mother.”

  My answer seems to calm him. “Supposed to be.” He chuckles. “There is no ‘supposed to be.’ There is only what exists.”

  “What exists are my feelings for Miriam,” I say. I’m not great with words, but these come easy. They’re the truth.

  Daniel manages to look sad, even as he smiles. “What you need to remember, Caleb, is that each of our actions causes a ripple. And enough ripples cause a flood. Like the one that brought about the end of nearly everyone in Ur.”

  I have no idea what he’s trying to tell me. He’s referring to the story of Noah and the ark, but after that I’m lost. Does he want me to build a boat?

  “What would you have me do?” Daniel says. “Tell our brethren you’re unhappy with your choice? And then what? Perhaps you think it better if I say the entire evening was in error.” He spreads his arms. “But who will believe that? That I allowed Matrimony between all the wrong people?” Tiny lines feather out from his eyes like arrows. “Does that seem like the kind of mistake I would make?”

  “Of course not,” I say, the words automatic. Daniel doesn’t make mistakes. But neither does God, so . . . what is tonight, then? If all that is real is what exists, that means Miriam and I were never meant to be together at all. And that can’t be true. My head begins to pound, and my body shakes.

  Daniel puts a firm hand on my neck as he guides me to sit on the bed. “Since you cannot live with the married couples, I’ll allow you to stay here. For now. What choice do I have? But you will be responsible for your own meals and your own housekeeping. After all, this is not your mother’s burden to carry. Nor is it mine.” His voice is warm in my ear, strong, when he says, “Your refusal to marry is the mistake, Brother. A sin. And one I’m not sure you can recover from.”

  Once again, I’ve managed to do the wrong thing. I bow my head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, it’s not me you need to beg for forgiveness. This is between you and God. I hope for your sake He’s feeling merciful. Because there’s no room for the Faithless here. Not in my community.”

  I’m not Faithless! I want to scream it, but he is already gone. And maybe he’s right. I have sinned. Willfully. I ignored God’s voice. I refused Daniel’s orders. How can I expect forgiveness? I’m lucky to still have a roof over my head.

  6

  MIRIAM

  WHEN THERE IS A PROPHET AMONG YOU, I, THE LORD, REVEAL MYSELF TO THEM IN VISIONS. I SPEAK TO THEM IN DREAMS.

  —Numbers 12:6

  Caleb and I walk across the sand, hands intertwined. But this isn’t the sand of our desert; this sand is white and fine and sifts through our bare toes like sugar. Ahead is water, as far as I can see. It undulates like a living creature, fierce and blue, roaring louder than any animal I’ve ever heard. Caleb tugs me forward and I resist, laughing, ecstatic at the chance we’ve been given to be together, to be free. He tugs again, and this time the water sweeps forward to meet me, licking me with its icy tongue. Then Caleb pulls me into his arms and leans in, his lips inches from mine.

  I wake, heart pounding, my mother’s song in my head and Daniel’s voice in my ear.

  I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.

  “‘Let the morning tell of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you!’”

  For a moment, I think he’s there with me. That he has read my forbidden thoughts. But it’s just the morning Call to Prayer. These messages always sound timely and personal, but by now I know they’re prerecorded. Daniel can’t be everywhere at once. Our house—my parents’ house—had several speakers for delivering his Word, but this tiny apartment has only one, and it’s mounted above the couch where I finally fell asleep.

  Never have I missed a Call to Prayer. But then, never have I been given the opportunity. I’m just so tired. Between the Bible passages and my fevered dreams, I barely got any sleep at all. Instead of getting down on my knees immediately, I close my eyes, trying to hang on to the carefree happiness of my dream a little longer.

  Dreams are prophetic. Daniel founded New Jerusalem based on his own dream of a peaceful society, with no war or suffering. It’s a requirement of all members of the community to record our dreams in our journals, and to share them with Daniel, so he can interpret the messages God sends us. But my dreams of Caleb seem self-explanatory. And more than that, personal. Just not prophetic, given that I am married to someone else. But my mother said she thought I had a gift. Is she right? Does this dream mean that there is still a chance for Caleb and me to be together? Perhaps I need to pray, as she suggested.

  But before I can slide onto my knees, an insistent voice stops me. “I screwed up.” This time, it isn’t Daniel. “What the hell . . . now?” Aaron asks.

  My Bible is open on my lap. I shift carefully, cracking an eyelid. The front door is ajar, and through the tiny gap I see Aaron standing in the outside corridor. But whom is he talking to? The drawn curtains obscure any view I might have.

  “It’s not great, but what’s done . . .” A woman’s voice, though I only catch part of what she’s said. “Abe and I . . . make this work. Keep your eye on the . . .”

  Abe is Aaron’s father, so this must be Sarah, Aaron’s mother. Neither of them have heeded the Call, which is more like the behavior of Outsiders than True Believers. Are they talking about me? Am I the screwup? If so, then I’m also apparently “not great” as a bride, at least according to her. I clench my fists. Who is she to judge me? Besides, I don’t plan on staying married to her son any longer than I have to.

  “They’re friends . . . she can help,” Sarah says.

  What does she mean, “they’re friends”?

  “She doesn’t want . . . made that abundantly clear . . .” Aaron laughs bitterly, while Sarah’s laugh is light, almost musical.

  “So make her want . . .” But I can’t hear the rest of the sentence.

  What is he supposed to make me want?

  “You can be charming when it . . .” she continues. Then her voice hardens, and I have no trouble hearing her next words. “You need her. Remember that.”

  The apartment door bangs open, followed by quick footsteps across the carpet. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying to figure out what this all means. Why does Aaron need me? Because he still feels like an Outsider?

  The slam of the front door hits me like a slap, and only after muffled footsteps move past me do I open my eyes.

  Aaron stands in the kitchen area with his back to me, and in daylight he might as well be a different boy from the one I tripped over last night. I stare, mostly because I can and no one will rebuke me. I’ve never seen a man move about the kitchen in this way. He opens drawers, takes out silverware, tense and controlled, like a wire about to snap. His blue-black hair stands nearly straight, adding another inch to his lean frame. He reminds me of a push broom.

  I stretch my cramped legs and stand, trying to brush the wrinkles from my skirt. My hair has escaped its binding, and I pat uselessly at the tangled mess, pulling a crusty tendril off my cheek. I start to gather it with tired fingers, but then I remember I’m married to a man I’ve no wish to impress, so I leave it and walk barefoot into the kitchen.

  “Should we have some breakfast?” Aaron asks, his back to me.

  My mouth waters at the mere mention of food. When was the last time I ate? The day before yesterday? It doesn’t matter. Only one night
of marriage, and already he wants me to serve him. I won’t do it.

  He turns, and I stumble. His unbuttoned shirt hangs open, revealing the biggest expanse of naked male skin I’ve ever seen. I slap my eyes shut and promptly run into the counter.

  When I open them, he takes in my embarrassing entrance, rumpled clothing, and crazy hair without comment.

  “I’m not hungry,” I say, and my stomach groans at the obvious lie. My cheeks flush hotter as the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

  I debate fleeing to the bathroom, but a knock at the front door stops me.

  “Can you get that?” Aaron asks, turning away so that he misses the glare I give him.

  I go to the door not because he asked, but because it will be my mother, bringing us breakfast.

  Only it’s not.

  “You aren’t—” I open the door to Sarah, looking happy and relaxed and not at all like my mother, or for that matter, like any mother who just had a disagreement with her son. Has she been out here the whole time? Waiting? For what?

  “You don’t . . .” I trail off. She isn’t the wife of a Council Member, so she doesn’t have access to the kitchens.

  But that all would sound rude, so instead I say, “Welcome. Thank you for coming.”

  She smiles and pushes the basket she’s carrying farther up her arm as she takes my hands in hers. Her grip is surprisingly strong considering she’s so thin I can count the bones of her wrist. Is it hard to find food Outside?

  “Good morning, Miriam. Or should I say ‘daughter’?”

  I pull my hands free. “Miriam is fine.” I move aside to let her into the apartment, but she remains in the doorway. She’s shorter than me, and probably easily a foot shorter than her son, so that her long brown skirt brushes the tops of her sandals. Her head scarf, by contrast, is a riot of color, bright greens and reds. I imagine she must be my mother’s age, but she doesn’t have the waxy look of the older women here. Her skin is smooth, lighter than Aaron’s, and standing this close I can see a dusting of freckles across her nose. The only thing she really has in common with her son is the pointed chin.

  “And you may call me Sarah.” She studies me with the same scrutiny. “I just wanted to come by and drop off some goodies from the Commodities Exchange.” She pulls back the cloth to reveal a pile of brown eggs, some ground meat, and a loaf of bread.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I start to say. My mother was very clear on where our food would come from.

  “It gives me an excuse to check on Aaron,” Sarah says, dimpling her cheek with a smile. “He’s my only son. I worry.”

  “About what?”

  She moves to put the food on the counter and waves her hand, a tiny, fluttery movement that makes me think of moths. “What do all mothers worry about? The usual.”

  I don’t know what all mothers worry about. My own mother worries about damnation, and possibly me embarrassing her, but I don’t think that’s what Sarah is alluding to. “Do you mean the snakebite?”

  Her dark eyes snap to her son. “What is she talking about?”

  “It’s nothing. Just a tiny snake. Not even poisonous.” He looks at me from across the counter, as if daring me to contradict him.

  I don’t, but only because I think this small lie will make Sarah leave faster, not because I have any desire to share secrets with him. Besides, he’s sort of right. I sucked the poison out. And his foot doesn’t look swollen, nor does he look like he’s suffering any other ill effects.

  He pulls two eggs from the basket and cracks them into the pan, one after another, where they sizzle and snap. “We live in the desert now. There are many dangers here.”

  Something in his voice makes her face go blank. “Watch out for him, Miriam,” she says, her eyes on his back. “He doesn’t always say the right things. But he has a good heart.”

  I don’t care about his heart.

  “Isn’t it time for you to go? Mom?” Aaron grips the spatula so tight I’m afraid it might snap in half.

  A spatula. I’ve never seen my father so much as slice a piece of bread. “You know how to cook?”

  He scrambles the eggs in the pan, then dumps them onto a plate. When I don’t move, he walks it over to me. “See for yourself.”

  I take it, as much from shock as from hunger.

  Sarah takes his chin in her hand. “Such a good boy.” She lays her other hand on my elbow. “Eat up, Miriam. You need strength.” For a second, her clawlike grip turns painful. She’s stronger than she looks. Then she releases me, and the moment passes.

  “Strength for what?” I ask, raising my voice as she opens the front door.

  “Your journey on the Path to Righteousness,” she says, after only a tiny hesitation.

  She’s learned well. It’s exactly what my mother would have said. So is the “keep faithful” she leaves us with.

  When she’s gone, I drop my gaze to the plate in my hands. I’m tempted to refuse it out of sheer spite, even though I’m so hungry I feel faint. What kind of husband cooks? But my stomach groans in protest, and I weaken and take the plate to the table. The eggs are cooked perfectly, golden and so fluffy they melt on my tongue. When Aaron brings over sausage, browned and sweet, I can’t get the fork to my mouth fast enough.

  He watches me and shakes his head. “Slow down. I don’t want to have to Heimlich you.”

  I scowl as I see the smile bumping at the corners of his mouth. How can he be so casual about all of this? Or maybe this is just him trying to be charming.

  “What?” he asks.

  I duck my head and continue cutting my meat.

  He puts a hand on my wrist. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  It sounds like a command, and I tense. This is the moment, then, when all I have been taught must be put into action. Obey your husband. Submit to him. It was only a matter of time.

  He pulls his hand back. “Sorry. That sounded pushy. I just . . . We’re allowed to speak, you know. So tell me. What do you think of my cooking?”

  I swallow. “It’s good.”

  “That’s it? ‘Good’?” He leans back in his chair and laughs. “What happened to the girl who broke the rules and spoke to me last night in the desert? The one who read aloud all night just because she could? What’s the matter? Do you only speak when it’s forbidden?”

  His words shock me, and I drop my fork with a clatter. He quirks one eyebrow so it forms a kind of question mark.

  As angry as I am, at him and this situation, he’s right. I do use my words to shock people. I’m much less adept at normal conversation, especially with a man. And this man, although technically my husband, is still practically a stranger. After all, it wasn’t that long ago he was an Outsider.

  I’ve never spoken to an Outsider until now, though Aaron and his parents aren’t the first I’ve seen. Sometimes people will visit our community to meet with Daniel. Most of them leave soon thereafter. On rare occasions, some ask to stay. But Aaron and his family are the first to pass the Council and become True Believers, at least as far back as I can remember. We aren’t allowed to ask them anything about their time outside New Jerusalem. That life no longer exists.

  But now I’m married to one. And as he reminds me, we’re allowed to speak.

  I push my plate away. “You’d like me to talk? Fine. Tell me about the Outside.”

  His gaze flicks to the speaker on the wall before dropping to the table. He shakes his head, once, and for a moment I think he’s refusing. But then he says, “You say ‘Outside’ like it’s its own place. Like this compound is its own world, and outside is another. You’ve never been out, then. Not even to Barstow? Disneyland? Vegas, maybe, so Daniel can prove he’s right about the fall of society?”

  I’ve never heard of any of these places, and I suspect he’s making them up. “I’ve been to the desert,” I say, crossing
my arms.

  “The desert. Jeez, what must you think . . . ?” He shakes his head. “The world is way bigger than that. This place, this”—his eyes bounce toward the wall once more—“this . . . city? It’s just a dot on the map.”

  “What map?”

  “God, you can’t be that sheltered.”

  I wince at the casual way Aaron uses the Lord’s name.

  He leans forward and drops his voice. “I’m willing to tell you about the outside.” He lays a hand over mine. “But it comes at a cost.”

  I yank free and push my chair back.

  “What? Did you think I meant . . . God, I would never . . . Not a physical price. I’m talking about punishment. If Daniel finds out I’ve told you anything, he’s going to be piss—angry.”

  “Because it’s so bad out there?”

  He groans and covers his face. “Damn it. I can’t answer that. I wish I could. You have no idea.” Then he shoves back his chair and goes to the window.

  We stay like that for a long time, Aaron staring out over the lake and me staring down at the table. I’m scared by this stranger, by his presence and his words.

  Though of course the Elders all grew up Outside, as far as I know, only Daniel and a few members of his Security Council have ventured back Out since the city was founded. None of them ever talks about what they see. But Aaron must know as well as they do of the pain and the filth and the sin. Maybe not talking about it is really a way to protect himself from the memories.

  Aaron takes our plates from the table to the sink and turns on the faucet, and my curiosity about the Outside is replaced by an even deeper, unsettled feeling about this man I married. This man who cooks and cleans up after himself. In all the days of my life, I’ve never seen such a thing. My mother told me marriage would be a revelation, and she wasn’t lying.

  “She’s wrong, you know,” I say, “your mother. You don’t need me. And the only thing I need from you is help undoing this marriage.”

  The soft clatter of dishes ceases, his shirt tightening across his shoulders. But he doesn’t say anything about my eavesdropping. Instead, he asks, “And how do you suggest I do that?”