a wound, she brought Steven to mind.
She still felt empty, but at some point in the last hours the feeling had changed slightly, turning from confusion and turmoil into a cool, focused determination, from bleakness to calm. The death of the Japanese boy might even have been an accident, she finally admitted, and his being dumped on the road the result of panic. Stupid, but human.
The desert had done its work. She would now be able to look Steven in the eye without flinching.
There was a new man at dinner.
In itself this was not unusual, but this was no visiting newcomer. On the contrary, he ate surrounded by a knot of high-ranking initiates, who hung on his words and gave all the signs of knowing him well. Ana had little doubt that the man wore a silver necklace beneath his shirt, if not a gold one.
'Who is that man?' she asked Dov over the warming tray of baked potatoes.
'That's Marc Bennett. He used to lived here for a little while, taught science until Dennis came and then he went back to England. He's a close friend of Jonas—Jonas Seraph, the founder of the English community. Sort of his right-hand man. An important man in Change, anyway.'
'You'll be glad to have him back, then.'
'Oh, Marc's not staying. It's just a short visit.'
Ana moved to a nearby table and watched Dov return to the group around the newcomer. A short visit might mean recreation or family matters, or peripheral to some kind of business trip. It could also be the work of a courier.
Steven did not lead the meditation that night, which had happened only twice since Ana had been there. Instead, Thomas Mallory took the central position, stumbling and stuttering his way with even more awkwardness than he normally displayed in public speaking. Marc Bennett was seated at the highest level of the row of meditation platforms across the hall from Steven, who sat unmoving the entire time. The whole Change community left the meditation hall unsettled.
She spotted Steven the next morning, too, still looking distracted, even troubled. He was walking with his hands locked behind his back and his head bent. Mallory was following him at a distance, also looking upset. As she watched, a third figure appeared: Jason on his morning run. Steven's head came up and he thrust out a hand to beckon Jason over to him. They exchanged a few words, Steven clapped Jason on the shoulders, Jason resumed his run, and when Steven turned to watch him go, Ana's silent presence must have caught the corner of his eye. He swivelled to face her across half a mile of scrub and rock and stood intent for what seemed a very long time. Then he half raised his left hand in a gesture of greeting, or benediction, and continued his walk. She ignored Mallory's glare and set off in a different direction.
A high initiate, a close friend of one of the original four Change founders, arrives from England; Steven is troubled. Had Glen's phone taps been discovered, or even suspected? Or had Steven just then learned about the Japanese boy's death from this old Change member, sent to bring him news too sensitive to be overheard?
It fit all the circumstances, and Ana knew that she would have to get word to Glen of the possibility. The knowledge, even a strong suspicion, of official scrutiny would have powerful repercussions in the community; it was exactly the sort of paranoia trigger she dreaded. She reminded herself, too, that the general anxiety did not necessarily mean they feared her in particular, that she must take care not to be a victim of her own paranoia. That time in Utah she had given herself away, but those circumstances did not apply here. Change had a long way to go before its instability escalated into violence. This community was not about to turn on her.
She did not sleep well, but over breakfast she discovered that no one looked particularly rested, that all the adult faces revealed a heaviness and degree of preoccupation that she had not witnessed there before. Talking to the other members and listening carefully, though, she did not think they knew of a specific problem, simply that Steven, their center, was out of sorts, and therefore Change as a whole was unbalanced.
Rumors began to circulate. Steven was leaving Arizona. Steven was not leaving, he was ill; no, he had simply received bad news from his family. Steven and Marc Bennett had had a raging argument; Marc had slammed out furiously to return to England; Marc had not slammed out, he was scheduled to go back anyway.
Ana had the fact of the argument between the two men confirmed by Dominique, who overheard the raised voices if not the words, but she could find no truth in any of the other rumors except that Marc Bennett had left. The whole Change compound began to feel as if somewhere on the horizon a storm was stirring, making the inhabitants feel prickly and on edge.
So it was with great relief that after Ana's last class, when she was sitting at her desk doing paperwork and thinking that she ought to go by the kitchen and put in some time there chopping vegetables or at least setting out plates, she heard a light tapping noise at the door and looked up into Jason's face.
He looked as old as Glen, this kid of fourteen. 'Jason, how are you?'
'Okay. How's the hand?'
In answer, she held it out and curled the fingers up until they touched the palm, then straightened them out again. The swelling was almost gone, the tenderness bearable unless she smacked it against something. She noticed that, half hidden by the doorjamb, his left arm cradled a basketball, and he was wearing sweats.
'Going to shoot a few baskets?'
'Yeah. It's warm enough now to use the outside court, so we don't have to quit every time people want to eat.'
'Maybe I'll come down and watch for a while.'
She wasn't sure, but she thought he looked pleased at the prospect. She doubted that was why he was there, but he seemed disinclined to say anything else, so she tried to bridge the gap by asking him, 'How are you enjoying the mural? Has your teacher got you painting yet?'
She had thought it a harmless enough question, given the interest and talent that according to Carla he displayed, but she seemed to have hit it wrong again. She looked at his abruptly closed face, his eyes that had gone to study the corners of the room, and she sighed.
'I can't paint,' he finally muttered.
'Maybe not, but that sketch of the quail on my coffee cup shows that you can certainly draw.'
'I mean I can't. She won't let me.'
'Your teacher? Why on earth not?'
'Steven thinks it's a good idea if I lay off drawing and stuff for a while. But it's okay, really. It's just a stupid mural, anyway.'
'I beg your pardon,' she retorted in mock resentment. Til have you know, the mural was my idea. Don't call it stupid.' She laughed at his expression and waved away his embarrassed attempt at backtracking. 'But look, Jason, let me get this straight: You like drawing?' He nodded. 'You're good at it.' A shrug, of course. 'And you'd like to help on the mural but Steven said no.' A convulsion of the shoulders and head that Ana took for a combined nod and shrug. 'Did he tell you why?'
'Sacrifice.' He looked at her and misread the expression on her face. 'That's what he said.'
'Not punishment?'
'He didn't say so.'
Heat and pressure, and if a child with great potential and few outlets likes to draw, you take that away from him to increase the pressure. What was next: no basketball and a cancellation of all morning runs? And his only advocate another newcomer who was in no position to raise a stink. Dear God, what an impossible situation.
'Well,' she said, 'it seems like a massive waste to me. I know my classes could sure use some help in sketching things out—I'm actually the best artist in the bunch, heaven help us.' Jason seemed relieved by her willingness to let the subject slide. 'You going down to the courts now?' she asked. 'I'll probably see you there.'
'Okay. Look, I just wanted to say,' he began abruptly, then stopped. 'Um, I mean, the other day, I don't know why I told Dulcie to come to you. It wasn't your responsibility. It's just that, well, she likes you, and I couldn't think of anyone else in a hurry. So, thanks for taking care of her. I hope she wasn't too much of a pain.'
'I was happy to help, Jason. Dulcie's good people. But I hope,' she added deliberately,'that it doesn't happen again for a while. She was very upset.'
'I know,' he said with a grimace. 'She's having nightmares again. Look, I've got to go. They're waiting for me.'
