The Land of Decoration

“Yes.” I leaned my head against the fence.

“Oh, well…”

There was silence for a minute or two. “Can we get you anything?”

“No. Thank you.” I closed my eyes.

“Well, all right … we’ll be off then—we’ll see you soon, though, at the meeting.”

“Yes.”

“Give your dad our love.”

“Tell him we’re thinking of him.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

I heard them go down the road, and then I slipped down the fence and sat on the soil.

* * *

I DIDN’T SPEAK to Father for the rest of the day, but he didn’t notice because he wasn’t speaking much either. Late that night he came up to my room and sat on the bed. He didn’t seem to care whether I was asleep or not, but I pretended to be; he smelled of beer and I was afraid.

“We’ll win in the end,” he said. “They think they’ve beaten us, but they haven’t!” He put his hand on my head and it was heavy and clammy, like being touched by a dead thing. I felt him sway on the edge of the bed, then he farted.

He said: “What have I—”

Then he made a noise that sounded like: “Gah!” and put his head in his hands and rubbed his hands back and forth over his hair and groaned. Then he began to laugh, and all the while he laughed he rubbed his head.

When he had gone, I didn’t move for the longest time. I didn’t want to breathe, but I had to. I suppose I had thought that once Father’s body began to get better he would be himself again, but he wasn’t, so something else must be wrong, and I didn’t want to think what that was. I thought for the first time that perhaps Father had the Depression. Depression was a sin, because it meant someone despaired of God.

And I decided knocking on doors and smashed windows and heads down toilets and fires and even getting beaten up were nothing to this, because whatever this was couldn’t be seen and couldn’t be got at and couldn’t be mended. It couldn’t be fixed like a door, or an eye, or a tooth, or a house.

Christmas

THE NEXT DAY, we got a Christmas card from Auntie Jo. She had made the card herself, as usual, and stuck a photo on the front. In the photo she had her hair cut very short and was wearing enormous double-clef earrings and grinning, with a party hat on her head. She had her arms around two other women, and it looked like they were in someone’s back garden at night. She looked as though she had been in the sun.

The card said: Happy Christmas. Thinking of you both. Would love to see you. Come and visit. Love, Jo. There was a long line of kisses. I sniffed the card but it didn’t smell of anything. But I thought how Auntie Jo’s fingers had been all over it. I imagined Auntie Jo smiling at me as she was on the front of the card. I asked Father if I could keep this card and he said that I could, so I stuck it on the wall above my bed. It made the whole room seem different, as if a window had been opened and fresh air had come in.

The Saturday after Christmas, Uncle Stan came to see Father. He came straight after dinner. Father offered him a cup of tea, but Uncle Stan didn’t want one. They went into the front room and closed the door. I couldn’t hear anything, so I went to my room and sat on the floor and took out my journal, but I just sat and looked at the page.

Then I heard the door downstairs. Uncle Stan said: “The announcement will be made tomorrow,” and Father said: “Thank you.”

About half an hour later Father knocked at my door. I scrambled up and put the journal under the floorboard and said: “Come in!”

He perched on the edge of the chair by my desk and said: “Judith, I’ve got something to tell you; I’m sorry about it but there it is. Uncle Stan has just been here and we’ve had a long talk: At the meeting tomorrow there’ll be an announcement made saying I’ve been Removed. I want you to know I’m in agreement with it.”

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t look up.

“I know this will come as a shock to you, but I can’t in full conscience do anything else right now. What I came to say is this: It doesn’t mean you have to stop going to meetings: I’m more than happy to take you and drop you off. I want you to do whatever you want to do.”

I don’t know how long he went on talking, I heard him say: “Judith?”

I swallowed. “Is it because you chased the boys?” I said. But it didn’t really matter why now.

“That—and other things,” said Father. He sighed. “I suppose I’ve been doing things my own way for quite a while.”

I was feeling hot and thought I might faint. I said: “But you still believe in God, don’t you?”

Father gave a very small laugh. “I don’t know what I believe,” he said. He stood up. “But if you want to go tomorrow, I’ll drop you off.”

I shook my head.

“You don’t want to go?”

I shook my head.

“OK.” He went to the door. Then he stopped and said: “Oh.” He rummaged in his pocket. “Stan said to give this to you.” I opened the piece of paper. On it was written:

D. S. Michaels

The Flat

The Old Fire Station

Milton Keynes

MK2 3PB

Dear Brother Michaels,

This is Judith McPherson, the one you talked to after giving your talk about the mustard seed. You gave some to me, do you remember? I hope you are well.

I am writing to thank you for coming to our congregation. Your talk changed my life. When I came home I made a miracle happen, and lots after that, but the first one was that night after you told us about faith. I made it snow by making snow for my model world. There is a world in my room made of rubbish. I made snow for it and then it really did snow, do you remember?

After that I made it snow again and then I made it stop snowing. Then I brought back our neighbor’s cat and then I punished a boy at school. But now he is knocking at our house all the time and yesterday his dad threatened Father in the Co-op and called him a “scab.”

The police are not helping. Nobody believes I have done any miracles. The thing is, now I don’t know whether to try to make more miracles or not. Having power is not as easy as it looks.

You said that all we needed to do was take the first step, but now it doesn’t look like I can go back to where I began. I think that it would have been better for me never to have discovered my power in the first place. I am confused about lots of things now, and so is Father.

Brother Michaels, something terrible has happened. I made the boys come to the house, and Father has got into trouble with the elders because he got angry. I should have seen that he would, but I didn’t and as God says, it is easier doing things than undoing them. Father is not himself. I think he may have the Depression.

Brother Michaels, tomorrow Father will be Removed from the congregation.

I know Father will come back to the fold, but I am sure if you came and talked to him, it would help. You could say prayers for us. Would you mind praying right away, because the End is very close?

So many days now I haven’t felt like myself, and I think I am sickening for something. I hope it is not the