always give it to Carla.'
Chapter Eighteen
The word 'cult' has become meaningless as a description of human behavior, so laden is it now with negative emotional baggage. Any small and vaguely eccentric group of religious seekers-after-truth is apt to find itself slapped with the label and instantly converted in the minds of outsiders into a potential People's Temple or Branch Davidian. This is a heavy burden to carry, and serves primarily to increase the level of paranoia in even the most level-headed group.
Of course, short words with hefty emotional impact are the stock in trade of the media. When a newspaper reporter describes a group as a 'cult,' it has nothing to do with the actual technical definition of that word. The media are not interested in matter-of-fact; that sells no papers. It speaks in polemic, describing not what is, but what has been in the past and, more to the point, how we as readers have to feel about it: outraged, righteous, and moved to demand action.
Cults—or as they should usually be termed, sects—can be vicious, stupid, paranoid, murderous, suicidal, incomprehensible, and hysterical; as indeed may any group of human beings involved in a quest and immersed in passion. They can also be gentle, contemplative sources of creativity and peace, but we do not hear much about those. We must keep firmly in mind, however, that most of the picture we see of cultic activity has been drawn for us by ex-members, and if in some cases their withdrawal from the community may be seen as a return to sanity, in other cases the ex-member's dissatisfaction may have its roots in political, personal, or even financial reasons. To expect a calm and balanced Image of their former life would be to hope for rational words from a jilted lover about the ex. Grains of salt must be applied with a generous hand—an exercise the news media has never shown much interest in. [laughter]
Excerpt from the transcription of a lecture by Dr. Anne Waverly to the FBI Cult Response Team. April 27, 1994
During the afternoon, Ana found a dentist in Sedona who would see to her teeth, and made an appointment with him for the following day. Teresa agreed to take her classes again.
Teresa also agreed that unless Jason had reappeared, it looked as if Ana would have to take Dulcie along, since the child showed no sign of relinquishing her hold on Ana. They ate dinner together, and then Ana borrowed an armful of bedding from the stores closet and made up a bed for the child in the corner of her room. She showed Dulcie where the bathroom was, supervised a bath and the brushing of teeth, and settled the child into her makeshift bed.
'I have some reading to do,' she told her. 'I'll turn out the lights in a little while.'
'Ana?'
'Yes, Dulcie?'
'Jason always lets me read for ten minutes when I go to bed. We used to watch TV,' she confided, 'but then one of my mom's boyfriends broke it and so Jason said I could read instead,'
'Oh. Well, books are better anyway. Except that I don't know if I have anything you'd like,'
Dulcie promptly sprang up and trotted over to the bag of things they had fetched from her room, and came back to the heap of tumbled sheets and blankets with two well-thumbed paperback picture books. Ana laboriously remade the bed with her one hand, tucked Dulcie in again, and returned to the papers her students had written. For ten minutes all was quiet but for the turning of pages; then Ana told Dulcie it was time to put her books away and go to sleep.
'I have to go to the bathroom, Ana.'
'You go ahead, then. Just try not to mess up your bed when you get up.'
Five minutes later: 'What are you reading, Ana?'
'I'm reading papers I had my students write about what they expected to see on their trip to Phoenix. Next week they'll hand in papers on what they did see.'
'Did any of your students say they were going to see you hurt in a fight?' Dulcie knew all about what had happened to Ana; everyone on the premises knew.
'No, none of them so far has mentioned that.'
'What does Jason's paper say?'
'Jason isn't my student, Dulcie. I don't know what he wrote for his teacher.'
'Jason hit you, didn't he?' said a small voice.
Ana let the paper she was reading drop onto the table. 'Jason's hand hit my mouth, somebody else's elbow hit my back, and I think Dov Levinski the math teacher stepped on my hand. No one was aiming for me, Dulcie. There were a lot of people moving quickly, and I just happened to be in the way.'
'So you're not mad at Jason?'
'Of course not. I'm sorry that he lost his temper, and I'm sure he's sorry he did, too. But I'm not at all angry at him. I like your brother.'
'I love Jason.'
'And Jason loves you. Now go to sleep.'
'Ana?'
'Yes, Dulcie.'
'Is Jason okay?'
'Jason will be fine, Dulcie. There are just some things he needs to do, and then he'll be back.'
A few minutes later: 'Would you say my good night prayer with me, Ana?'
'Why don't you say it and I'll listen?'
'Now I lay me down to sleep,' Dulcie began to chant. Ana winced. She had always considered it a sadistic idea to make a child's final words for the day 'If I should die before I wake'; after Abby's death the thought had become truly appalling. She steeled herself, but when the second half of the poem came, it was, instead, Thy love guide me through the night, and wake me with the morning light.' A much better version.
'Amen,' Ana said.
'Ana, is the Lord like Don Quixote?'
'What?'
'The Lord. You said that Don Quixote's name meant 'lord'.'
'Well, no. 'Lord' is the way we speak to noblemen, to knights and kings and very important people, and when we talk to God, we use the same word, because it's one of the most important words we have. God is much bigger than any king; it's just that language doesn't go far enough to describe how we feel about things as big as God. You could say that God is bigger than language.'
'Is Steven God?'
'No! For heaven's sake Did somebody say he was?'
'I don't think so. But Amelia said that Steven sees everything and knows everything.'
'Steven is a human being, so he can't be God. You could say—' Ana paused to choose her words. 'You could say that Steven tries to act for God, that he knows something of what God wants and helps others know it, too. Steven may be a man of God, but he can't be God. No person can be God.'
'Wasn't Jesus God?'
Ana had to smile. 'That, my dear, is a question that better minds than yours or mine have dedicated their lives to thinking about. Now: sleep.'
Five minutes later, in a tiny voice: 'Ana?'
'What, Dulcie?'
'If you're not here when I wake up in the morning, you'll be back as soon as you've finished your walk?'
'That's what I told you. I promise I'll be back.'
'Like Jason. He goes running in the morning sometimes.'
'Yes, I know. I've seen him.'
'Ana?'
'What?'
'I love you, Ana.'
Dulcie was asleep before Ana could formulate an honest response to that last statement. She sat with her
