Canaan Camp, May 9
The Outer
Camp was about as exciting as the shotgun house in which he had spent the last five days. Paget decided that the
term shotgun came from the fact that a man kicking in the door could hit everyone inside with one blast of buckshot.
He sat with elbows propped staring sullenly at the red-bellied, forty-year-old Ford tractor crawling across the field.
Four shirtless young men gathered bales and threw them up to two others stacking the hay wagon. The clanging of the
New Holland baler rose in volume as it approached the house coming down a windrow of hay. The scorched smell of new
hay permeated the air.
Why not use a rig to make those big round bales and cut out all the donkeywork? he asked himself. Probably
some idiocy about hard work being godly.
He took the lone metal folding chair out onto the porch just as the tractor pulling the hay shifted gears and set off at a
brisk pace toward a gap in the oak trees forming a border at the northwest boundary of the field. As the baler shut
down he heard tires on gravel.
Seven days, huh? he thought. I'd rather be bored to death than pestered by bible thumpers.
He shrugged.
If it got too bad, he'd just leave.
A cadaverous man in his early thirties came around the house. He stepped up onto the porch and extended a bony hand,
his sleeve riding up six inches of thin wrist. He smiled as they clasped hands.
Thin and brittle like a stick, thought
Paget. "Stick Man."
"Hi, I'm John Campbell," he said.
"My name is---" began Paget.
"Don't tell me." The man held up his hand. "We don't use names until a person becomes one of us.
Then you can either keep your former name or choose one for your new life."
29.
Weird, thought
Paget. Weird, but fine.
"Something out of the Bible?" he asked.
"Not necessarily," said the Stick Man. "It's an option, but not all that important. The important
thing is the decision you're contemplating."
"And you came to help me with that?"
"No. Just to see if you have any questions. We won't try to convince you to stay. Take your full seven
days to meditate, pray, and think. Then decide if this is what you really want for the rest of your life."
"I
do have one question. What happens if I decide to stay?"
"Then you will---if Father Joshua okays
you."
"What's he? Like your head priest or something?"
"Leader would be the best word.
Look, do you know the Bible very well?"
"I've never been much of one for church. I don't guess I've lived a very good life."
"None of us has,
but that doesn't mean we can't. We of the Wilderness Church have dedicated ourselves to leave all that worldly
stuff behind and start a new spiritual life."
Paget nodded. Here comes the sales pitch, Bobby Lee.
"Let me explain about Father Joshua,"
said Campbell, warming to his subject. "In the Old Testament you'll find that Israel was ruled by judges before
God granted them their foolish request to have a king so that they could be like all the other people of the world.
The first of these judges was Moses, actually."
Paget decided to show that he knew something, if for no other reason than to shorten the introductory lecture. The last
thing he needed was a mind-numbing recital starting from creation.
"Moses was the guy who jumped bad on the
Egyptians. Is this the same one?"
"Yes---only it was God who did that. He only used Moses. Then there were other judges, including Gideon,
Samson, and, of course, Joshua."
"The Battle of Jericho, right?" said Paget exhausting his trove of Bible knowledge.
"Right.
In no time at all after Israel got kings, they started having more and more trouble, mainly because they got all mixed up
with the things of the world. They started to trade with other nations, intermarry, make military alliances---this was
all brought on by the desire of the kings to become world powers and get rich. It finally led to the incorporation of
devilish worship. Israel started borrowing religion from the heathen nations. They even sacrificed their own children
on burning altars."
Paget felt like he was in Junior High history class again. Nothing like barbecued babies to keep the class interested,
right? He forced his mind back, and he picked the Stick Man up in mid-lecture.
". . . so God sent
prophets among the people to tell them their errors, and to warn them of the danger their kings were leading them into."
30.
"So Father Joshua is like your king?"
"My goodness no! He's a judge and a prophet. Another Moses."
If you all believe that, then the old
bastard's got a hell of con going here, thought Paget.
"What brought you here?" asked Campbell earnestly.
The question caught him off guard. He quickly tried to decide what it was that they wanted to hear from him.
"I'm
not sure," he ventured, watching for the effects of his words. "My life's pretty well a mess right now.
I feel like I've just been drifting---maybe looking for something."
Campbell nodded encouragingly.
Does he want to hear
something specific from me, or is he just checking to see how honest I am? he wondered. What the hell.
They want to believe me. A place like this wants to suck as many people as possible into their little paradise.
"I
overheard a couple of your people talking to a young man in a restaurant in Mountain View. There was just something---I
don't know---It felt right that I should talk to them. I think I belong here. Does that make any sense?"
Stick Man beamed,
and Paget knew he had passed the test.
"If I stay here no one's going to ask me about my past, are they? I really do want to leave all that behind."
"Your
past doesn't concern us."
"Kinda like the French Foreign Legion."
"Good analogy, except we don't harbor criminals," Campbell replied with a laugh. "You
don't have a dark past do you?"
"No," said Paget seriously. "Except I feel like I've been stumbling around in the dark my whole life."
"But
you found your way here," said Campbell. "The Lord does work in mysterious ways. You can turn
your life around here if you're willing to make the commitment."
"Commitment?" repeated Paget suspiciously.
He once went
to a church where people made fools of themselves begging for forgiveness. That was one thing he would never do, not
even in pretense. He'd go to their Hell before he would humiliate himself like that.
"When the time
comes, you'll pledge yourself to service if you intend to stay."
"In front of everybody?"
"Of
course not. You'll be serving God, not us. You'll make your pledge to His Anointed, Father Joshua."
He could handle
that. As a kid, he had learned how predictable people were. All you had to do was find out what they wanted to
hear, give it to them with the right body language and expression, and then everything was hunky-dory. The old con man
wouldn't be any different. Paget was eager to close the deal.
31.
So what does the Stick
Man want to hear now? he wondered.
"Staying away from the outside world is all right with me," he said. "But tell me what this is all about.
I need to understand what I'm getting into."
"‘Come out from among them and be ye separate,'" said Campbell with an amused smile. "I
know. People spout scripture to justify all sorts of things. Let me put it this way: There's a plague raging
out there. The ways of this world bring misery and death, both spiritually and physically. We try to keep all
that outside."
Paget got it. They were holy rollers who deprived themselves so much all week that acting like fools for a few hours
on Sunday seemed like a real hoot. He could handle that too as long as they didn't insist he play the fool along with
them. Then he had second thoughts about something the Stick Man had said earlier.
"Just how much of
that worldly stuff do you keep out? I'm not cut out to be a monk."
"Let's put it this way: It's
not natural to live like monks. God created Eve as a helpmeet and companion for Adam. He created marriage and
told them to be fruitful and multiply."
"So you all have regular . . . relationships and stuff like that?"
"We're not Puritanical by any means,
but adultery and fornication are forbidden. Unmarried people date. We have parties, and live like normal people---at
least the way normal people are supposed to live."
Paget remembered that they stoned sinners in the Bible. The idea amused him. He'd like to see that, as long as
he wasn't on the stoned end.
"And what happens if someone doesn't breaks the rules? I mean people mess up sometimes."
"If
a person were really recalcitrant, he could be banished. Of course we haven't banished anyone yet."
Nope, thought Paget cynically. Kicking them out would
cut into the old man's collection plate.
"Of course erring can't be ignored. Restitution must be made," continued Campbell. "Whenever a
breach of the peace occurs, Father Joshua decides what payment must be made. Usually it's just a token offering to the
Church and a public acknowledgement of the wrong. We allot time for that before each Sabbath service."
Campbell seemed
eager to tell him more, but Paget cut him short. He had no intention of becoming an expert on the ways of these lunatics.
He just needed a place to hide for a little longer. Since confession was so big for these guys, he decided to give the
Stick Man something to chew on.
"What if I told you someone might come looking for me?"
"Who?" asked Campbell apprehensively.
32.
"Bad dudes," Paget improvised. "Gambling debts I can't possibly cover."
Campbell relaxed
noticeably. "Don't worry about them. No one gets in but seekers like yourself."
"No one?"
"Well
almost no one. Officials from the county have the right. We render unto Caesar the things that are his."
That didn't sound
good.
"So the law comes in whenever they want, like to deliver a subpoena or something?"
"The only government
we recognize as lawful is the county. The state and the so-called United States are anti-antichrist organizations.
We consider them at war with the Wilderness Church. The county, however, has legitimate civil authority because the
citizens of the area have elected it, and God has ordained it to keep the peace."
He didn't need for the Stick
Man to go on. The idea was identical to the Posse Commitatus crap that idiots in the militia preached. If the
Wilderness Church were half as stubborn as the militia then he couldn't find a better place to hide. Things were looking
up.
"So when do I meet this Father Joshua?"
"When he's led to see you."
Paget suppressed a sneer. Then he realized that the man had given him an important clue.
"He'll come soon
then," he said, going with his intuition.
"Don't count on that. He never sees seekers before their days of reflection are completed, and you still have a
couple of days."
"He'll see me sooner."
The rich aroma
of walnut oil permeated the study. The Victorian mansion's entire interior had been elaborately paneled in native walnut,
cherry, and yellow poplar cut from the camp's stands of hardwood. Although skylights, large windows, and copious lighting
fought to illuminate the interior, but the darkly oiled heartwood panels and dark wool carpet soaked up light. Campbell
felt uneasy in the room, but Father Joshua said that it was the only place he could hear the voice of God clearly. It
crossed John's mind that the effect came from sensory deprivation. He quickly tried to banish the blasphemous thought
as he heard the inner curtain being drawn. Joshua had finished his evening prayers.
"Good evening,
John," said the old man, ducking out through the low opening.
The sanctuary's entrance was only five feet tall, forcing the old man to bow humbly in order to enter.
"You've been to see our new seeker?" he asked as he slipped his large feet into the shoes left outside the sanctum.
"Yes."
Joshua took off
his prayer robe and ran fingers through his iron gray hair before donning the customary charcoal gray suit in which he conducted
services.
"Something bothers you," he said in his rich deep voice.
"The new seek seems a bit presumptuous.
He's certain that you will see him sooner than normal."
Joshua nodded his head, as he fastened his tie. "So I shall. I'll go down there tonight after services."
Joshua looked down at his chief assistant in amusement. "Let us not be presumptuous, John. No doubt
the man was sent here."
Despite his devotion to both Father Joshua and the Wilderness Church, Campbell bridled at the condescension. Sometimes
Joshua's arrogance annoyed him. Then he realized that it was his own pride that brought such thoughts, and breathed
a silent prayer for forgiveness.
"I know I shouldn't judge, but something about him puts me off."
"Careful with strangers, John."
33.
"Yes, sir. Some have entertained angels unaware."
"Exactly."
No steeple adorned the tabernacle, and there was no stained glass. Neither crucifix nor artwork graced the interior.
A raised dais stood as the focal point of an amphitheater composed of tiers of comfortably upholstered seats with fold-down
desktops. A buzz of convivial conversation arose from the three hundred plus of the congregation (every camp member
thirteen and older) as they awaited Father Joshua's appearance. Each carried well-thumbed Bibles and identical spiral
notebooks.
The lights slowly dimmed as Joshua stepped to the podium. A spotlight brightened as it contracted on him.
"A
little less drama please, Henry," he said staring up in the direction of the spotlight.
Rippled laughter came from
the adoring congregation. Joshua never preached. He instructed, explained, and revealed the truths hidden in the
sacred text. As he frequently did, he began informally, like a father speaking to his children at the dinner table.
"The
Wilderness Church is in camp now. For years our band of air stream trailers wandered the vast wilderness of this heathenish
country, taking the light of understanding to those who sat in darkness, and trusting that God in his mercy would provide
us just such a home. We wandered in the wilderness---mind you it wasn't forty years like Brother Moses---seeking a land,
a place promised us. God led us here to this beautiful valley where he planted into the heart of Gayland Williams to
give us this land when that good and faithful servant was called home. Canaan Camp is our home, but not our entire birthright.
For the moment, as it pleases God, we rest from our travels, but we must be ready to go where he sends us, whenever He calls."
"I
would ask you if you are willing, but I know you are willing. Each of you has come to us, has become one of us, by deliberately
forsaking his former life. You have chosen God rather than the pleasures of sin, and He is not forgetful of your good
works. He appreciates your sacrifices, and has made of you a City set on a hill, shining unto the world---a bright beacon
in the darkness, the great and glorious Camp of the Saints."
Joshua took a delicate sip from a water glass and smiled.
"Almost
got carried away there. Hope none of you thought you had wandered onto the set of a televangelist."
He paused to
let the laughter subside. Slowly he opened his large black Bible without saying a word. After finding his place,
Joshua fixed individual members of the audience with an intense stare. He let the silence build. The congregation
waited, recognizing the signs. They had witnessed it many times, and they loved it. He was about to tell them
something important.
When he spoke, his voice was soft evenly paced and perfectly clear. "Now, I'm neither a prophet, nor a prophet's
son."
The congregation exchanged knowing glances. Bright smiles lit their faces. Notwithstanding the disclaimer, they
knew they were in the presence of a prophet.
34.
"Tonight, I'm going to open the first
seal. Pray for me, Saints."
He read to them in a calm clear voice.
And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he
went forth conquering and to conquer.
He scanned the auditorium, and then spoke softly as if only confirming what they surely knew.
"This has passed,
children. It pleased God to allow the ten tribes of Israel to be carried away into captivity for their disobedience.
Now this is nothing new for God. He always punishes his disobedient children. We sometimes moan and complain about
that, but it is what we deserve, and what He does. But He does not destroy his children as He does the children
of wrath, and He did not destroy the lost tribes. What father destroys his own children? In fact they
were not lost at all, only carried into the wilderness for instruction and purging until such time as He
decided to call them forth. He did that around the fifteenth century, during what historians like to call the Age of
Discovery. He sent them forth conquering and to conquer."
"The European race---the descendants
of the ten tribes---went forth and conquered all the heathenish nations, burning and destroying utterly their devilish idolatry
and their gods of wood, brass, stone, and silver and gold. This was the beginning of the latter days."
"Now
I want you to think about this. You have been taught a lot of things in this country, things that you think are very
good things, but they are confusions to you. God has always had a chosen people, but he did not choose all
people. Not for nothing does Moses speak of the sons of God looking upon the daughters of men, thus
distinguishing between men. You have been taught that it is wrong to think this way, but is it?"
A dark haired young woman in the maidens' section gazed with devotion at the tall man on the dais, drinking in the sound of
Joshua's words uncritically. Occasional verses rang with familiarity, but it was his softly insistent and utterly confident
tone she loved. His sincerity and obvious faith made her feel secure. It amazed her still that he could weave
bits and pieces from the gospels, the epistles, and the prophets into an utterly convincing and comprehensible whole.
He was a prophet. She knew that as surely as she knew that she had been miraculously plucked from a life of
utter squalor to be part of this powerful and wonderful thing. Raven Bliss was finally worth something. She finally
belonged.
She was the least worthy person in the auditorium. Part of a verse came to her: . . . conceived in sin and
shapen in iniquity. Tentacles of her sordid childhood pulled her away.
Starry Dawn giggled shrilly as the man
pawed at her tank top. Hidden beneath the second bed, she watched her mother and the grunting man atop her. Eight-year-old
Raven knew the word for what they were doing, just as she knew the words "whore" and "meth." Although
she had no appreciation of their connotation, she knew that being a whore was what her mother did, and getting money for meth
was why she did it.
Starry Dawn pulled her out from under the bed. "I'm going to town, Honey" she said. "You do
what Jimmy says like a good little girl."
Social Services finally put her in foster care when she was twelve. A series of surrogate parents failed to give her
anything but separation from the trailer that had been her life. In school she made good grades and her teachers liked
her, but she had no friends. Boys were attracted to her, but only transiently. When they went away it was always
a relief, because they all wanted to touch her. She hated that because it meant that they knew. It was as if she
wore a sign that everyone could see but her.
Raven was not like other people. Until she had found the Wilderness Church she was dirty and cheap. Father Joshua
said her past did not exist, and most of the time it didn't. The gray haired leader of the Church was the only man she
had ever been able to trust. Raven sighed as she realized that she had missed most of the sermon. Once again Starry
Dawn had reached out and dragged her back. Her long black hair brushed her shoulders as she tried to shake away her
mother's hold.
35.
Raven rose to her feet along with the rest of the congregation as Father Joshua came to the front of the dais.
"Put
away your books, children. The sun is setting, and a new day begins. Choose you this day whom ye will
serve. As for me and my house . . ."
"We will serve the Lord," intoned the crowd in unison.
"Selah," said Joshua touching
the finger tips of both hands to his forehead.
People milled
the aisles, talking and laughing together before the evening meal, but no one spoke to her, which was fine. It was always
a relief when none of the young men approached her. It wasn't normal to feel that way, but she was powerless against
the visceral feeling. Her awkwardness had eliminated most of her prospective suitors. It had also spawned
rumors that were utterly untrue. Raven endured the dragging minutes until she could leave for the maiden's quarters
unobtrusively.
Paget couldn't decide if
Joshua looked more like an actor playing the President, or a news anchor. The tall gray-haired man (Paget thought he
old man would call it silver) was tall. Once he had been muscular, but now merely lean.
The old man
probably starves himself out of vanity, he thought. One thing for sure, the old geezer is a true believer.
He believes in himself.
"So you were just wandering without direction when you found yourself at the restaurant where you overheard the brothers
talking, and knew you were supposed to come here?"
Paget knew that it sounded like just so much crap---was so much crap, but he also knew that the old man wanted to believe
it.
"That's what happened," he said.
Joshua's ice blue eyes held their steady gaze a long, silent moment. Paget maintained eye contact with guileless expression.
He was a good role player. It's all he did until he gained control. Then there was no need for acting.
"I
believe you, son," said the old man with a reassuring smile.
Paget affected a relieved sigh. "I was afraid
you'd send me away. And I've got nowhere to go."
Joshua nodded sagely.
"You've made a mess of your life, haven't you? You haven't succeeded at much. You don't have any goals.
No attachments."
It was probably the standard line the old man would feed to any loser wandering in off the highway, but it rankled because
it was too near the truth. Paget's right hand tightened reflexively into a fist. He caught himself and relaxed,
but not before the old man noticed.
36.
"Got a temper too," said Joshua.
Paget looked up sharply.
The old man can read. The thought surprised him, but only for a second. Of course he can. How
else could he have all these idiots doing his crap?
"How long have you been out of prison, son?"
Good guess, but logical. The old bastard wants me to think he's a prophet.
Okay. So what do you want to hear?
"I've been out two
years---finished probation six weeks ago. How did you know?"
"I just knew."
Paget read relief in the
old man's change of posture.
He wants to believe me, he realized.
"You did something violent. You hurt
somebody. You're ashamed of it."
"Yes, sir," he said, breaking eye contact as much to keep from laughing as to feign shame. "I . . . uh
. . . robbed a store. I was just a scared kid---thought this clerk was going to trigger an alarm. I hit him with
the gun. It went off. I didn't shoot anyone, thank God. Got caught before I got out of the parking lot."
"And
it was bad in jail,"
"Yeah," he said, acting as if he were trying to remember something almost too shameful to think about. "How
do you know so much, old man?"
Paget thought the "old man" slip a good touch. Joshua's expression told him that he was right.
"It
was the second time. You were young the first time, but that was a juvenile facility, not really prison."
"Sir,
there's not much difference. The guys in prison are just bigger."
Joshua nodded as if he understood, which was
almost too much. The old man had no clue. No one who hadn't been in had a clue.
"Tell me, young
man. Should I allow you to stay here?"
That was an easy read.
37.
"Honestly? I don't know if I'm the kind of person for a place like this."
"You don't think
your good enough?"
Good? You mean will I do what you want me to do?
Paget knew that Joshua meant good as in obeying the rules and doing what all the "good" people expected, but the
concept made no sense to him. "Good" was personal. Food when you were hungry was good. A fist
crunching nose cartilage was good. Getting a "good woman" alone---that was very good.
He lowered
his eyes, feigning humility.
"How do you know so much about me, old man?"
The question brought a smile.
"I have an Interpreter,
young man. He reveals things to me," pausing to place a hand on his shoulder. "Now you don't have to
believe that, but it's true."
Paget hated being touched, but kept himself from flinching away.
"And one other thing," said Joshua
with a beneficent smile." Would you mind not calling me old man? The description may be apt, but
it sounds a bit disrespectful."
"I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I just---"
"It's just the past," said Joshua.
"The
past?" asked Paget, confused for the first time during the interview.
"Yes. The past is all
you have right now. But if you stay here you must give it up. Your old life must become dead to you, and you to
it."
"I need to stay."
"In a few days we'll make it official. But I think you're already one of us. Give me your hand if you agree."
Paget took
the hand, surprised to feel the man's strength and the calluses that said he still did manual labor.
"What shall
I call you?" asked Joshua.
"I'm . . . Cal, Cal Hodges."
"Not your real name, but good enough, Cal Hodges. The day after tomorrow we'll have a little ceremony.
Then we'll move you into the single men's barracks," he said with an expansive smile.
38.
"Oh, by
the way call me Father Joshua. Father has a much more respectful connotation than old man."
Paget flashed
on how his own father used to beat the hell out of him for nothing at all. He had respected the old man all right, respected
the power of the old man's fists. He put a stop to that when he was sixteen, and he had never been afraid of anyone
or anything since.
Joshua was almost through the door when he turned back.
"John told me that you knew I would come and see you before your days of meditation were up, Cal. How did you know
that?"
"I don't know, Father Joshua."
The old man nodded his head slowly.
"Yes. Yes, I think I do. You know, Cal, I have a feeling that you and I are going to have a special relationship.
I think you were sent here for a special purpose."
"Like what?" asked Paget, suddenly
worried at what the old man might have in mind.
"Perhaps you could be my aide, my special servant," said Joshua impulsively.
Cleaning up after the old
man didn't appeal to him, but it beat the hell out of tossing hay. Still, he was suspicious about the special business.
He'd kill the old man if he tried any homo stuff.
"Give me tonight to meditate on it, Cal. I'll call for you if it's to be."
