The Boundless Sublime (13 page)

‘But it’s the middle of the night.’

Lib whisked back the blanket and hauled me up. ‘It’s morning. We begin our day at dawn and he wants to see you first.’

‘He?’ I asked. ‘You mean Zosimon?’

Lib pushed me towards the door. My eyes were starting to adjust to the dim early morning light.

‘You’ll want to wash your face and hands before you see him for the elutriation.’

Maybe Lib was taking me to a shrine or meditation room. Maybe Zosimon was a ceremonial title, like the Dalai Lama or the Pope. Lib led me along the grey corridor to the same bathroom I’d visited before. A fluorescent light plinked on overhead, and I squinted.

‘Are there showers?’ I asked.

Lib shook her head. ‘Just these bathrooms.’

I shivered. ‘Hot water?’

‘Hot water dries and damages the skin,’ said Lib. ‘Cold is better for you.’

I imagined trying to wash properly in the bathroom, standing on icy tiles. This commune lifestyle was definitely not for me.

Lib handed me a threadbare towel, and stepped out into the corridor while I used the toilet. When I went to the sink to wash my hands and splash cold water on my face, I noticed there was a child in one of the other cubicles, crouched on top of the toilet seat. I blinked. Was it the same little girl I saw yesterday? She certainly had the same big eyes and shaved head, and she was wearing the same shapeless white shift. But she looked … younger now. Or had I been mistaken before?

‘Hello,’ I said, wiping my face with the towel.

The girl’s eyes flickered to the door, where she knew Lib was waiting.

‘Are you Monkey?’ I asked, keeping my voice low.

The little girl nodded. So it was the same one. Maybe it was the light that made her look different.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘We met yesterday.’

The girl frowned and shook her head.

‘Ruby?’ Lib called from outside.

The little girl lifted a finger to her lips and gave me a cheeky grin.

‘Coming,’ I said, and stepped out into the hall.

‘Quickly,’ said Lib, leading me out and along a different hallway. ‘You mustn’t keep him waiting.’

A cardboard sign was pinned to the door. INNER SANCTUM. Lib knocked respectfully, paused a moment,
pushed the door open and stood back to usher me in. I took a step forward, and the door clicked closed behind me.

The room was totally different to the utilitarian greyness that was all I’d seen so far. The walls and floor were painted white, and guttering candles lined the walls. The scent of jasmine hung in the air, and the floor was scattered with large cushions. A pale wooden desk sat against the wall furthest from the door, dotted with more candles. It reminded me of the Red House – calm and serene. Just walking in the door made me relax.

On the largest cushion, in the centre of the room, sat a man.

He certainly didn’t look like anything special. He appeared to be in his sixties or seventies. He had grey hair with a neatly trimmed beard, and large wire-framed spectacles. He wore a loose white tunic and white cotton pants. Around his neck hung a silver chain with a single polished stone, red streaked with white.

‘Ruby,’ he said, rising to his feet and shaking my hand with a smile. ‘I’ve heard much about you.’

His voice was low and calm. His smile was reflected in his bright blue eyes. His hand against mine was warm and dry.

‘Please sit down.’

He sank gracefully back onto his cushion, and I hunkered down in front of him.

‘Sublimates always have many questions. Please, feel free to ask them. There are no secrets in this family.’

I hesitated, suddenly shy. I glanced at his fingernails. They were perfectly smooth and shiny, the kind of nails Aunty Cath would kill for. I wondered if he maintained them himself, or whether he got regular manicures.

‘Let me ask you a question first, Ruby. Do you believe in Jesus Christ?’

Was this a test? ‘No,’ I said, after a moment’s thought. ‘Or at least, I think there was a historical person called Jesus. But I don’t believe he was the son of God, or could walk on water or any of that.’

‘Do you think that’s what Christians believe? That Jesus could perform miracles?’

I thought about Minah’s parents, who went to church every Sunday in their best clothes and prayed for their daughter’s soul. ‘Some of them do. But I guess others see it as more of a metaphor. I don’t really know.’

‘Clearly you
do
know, Ruby. You’ve hit the nail right on the head.’ Zosimon looked pleased, and I felt irrationally proud that he was impressed by me. Why? I hadn’t even said anything clever.

‘Was Jesus truly the son of God? Was he just a carpenter’s son with some big ideas? Was he a manipulative rabblerouser? It doesn’t matter, in the end. People will believe what they need to believe. It’s what they
do
with that belief that is important. Do the things you believe close down your world? Make it smaller and darker and uglier? Or does your belief open everything up, flooding the whole universe with light and love and consciousness?’

Zosimon lifted the red stone that hung around his neck and toyed with it, running his fingers over its smooth surface. ‘The world is aphotic, Ruby. I know you feel it. Everything is growing dark. We stand on the edge of a precipice, and once we go over, we can never come back.’

I remembered Fox telling me about his fears of contaminated sludge and hideous mutants. If this guy Zosimon had all the answers, then why was he hiding in a warehouse instead of being out there, changing the world? ‘So what’s the solution?’ I asked. ‘How do we fix it?’

I waited, but Zosimon didn’t answer. His eyes seemed unfocused, as if he were staring at something that I couldn’t see. I wondered if he’d forgotten I was there.

Finally, he took a breath and looked up at me. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘I heard a story once, about a young man residing in Athens around 400 BC. He was put on trial, accused of heresy. You might have heard of him. His name was Socrates.’

Zosimon smiled, as if he was remembering something fondly. ‘Socrates was a great man. An intellectual giant. He could have ruled the world, if only he hadn’t had such a hot temper. He told his jurors that they were weak, obsessed with their careers instead of their actuality – their souls. He told them that he had been singled out for greatness, that he had eclipsed the base potential of humans, and ascended to something higher. Something more pure.’

‘What happened? In the trial?’

‘They killed him. Made him drink hemlock.’ Zosimon’s face crinkled in sadness, and he leaned forward. ‘He said he’d rather die than admit he was wrong. He was arrogant, and it was his undoing. People don’t like to be told they are wrong. That what they believe is false. Arrogance is weakness, and it must be overcome. This is why I won’t ever tell you what to believe, Ruby. If you wish, I can share with you the things I have learnt. But you are not forced to believe any of it. You are strong, I can see that. Trust in yourself. Trust your own avocation, your own judgement. Believe what you
know
to be true. Not what people tell you.’

This didn’t feel like brainwashing. Or, if it did, it was brainwashing in a literal sense. Cleansing. Getting rid of all the bullshit and guilt and fairytales and magical healing amber beads. Cult leaders were supposed to be crazy. Zosimon didn’t seem crazy to me.

‘You’re probably thinking I’m crazy.’

I started, and he chuckled. ‘Maybe I am. I’m probably not in the best position to judge. But you know what, Ruby? I don’t feel crazy. I feel like I’m truly onto something. Something big.’

‘What is it?’ I asked.

Zosimon regarded me thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think you’re ready for that avocation yet,’ he said, and something inside me twisted. Did he sense my doubt? Or did he just not think I was good enough? ‘But you will be soon. I can tell that you’re special. Will you believe what I tell you?’ He shrugged. ‘That’s your choice. Nobody has any right to tell you what to believe. I have no desire to head up an army of mindless slaves, obedient to my every command. We are a family, here. A family of free thinkers who share a common goal. If the things we believe aren’t true for you, then they aren’t true. This is entirely your choice. Your will. Your truth.’

‘Does it work?’ I asked. ‘Your … program or whatever you call it?’

‘In my experience,’ said Zosimon, his eyes never leaving mine for a microsecond, ‘my technic works one hundred per cent of the time, when properly observed and carried out by truly committed individuals.’

I was fuzzy-headed with competing thoughts. Zosimon didn’t seem to be trying to pressure me into anything. Wasn’t cult indoctrination supposed to be all sinister brainwashing? Fear and sexual abuse and moral absolutes?

‘Can I ask about the water bottles?’

‘You can ask anything you like,’ said Zosimon. ‘What would you like to know about the water bottles?’

‘Is it …’ It seemed almost stupid to ask. ‘Is it just water?’

Zosimon lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘Water,’ he said. ‘With the smallest trace of sulphur.’

‘Why sulphur? Is it dangerous?’

‘Of course not. Sulphur is a cardinal element. It elutriates, drawing moisture and dampness from the corners of the mind, liberating a person’s actuality.’

Now it was starting to sound more like the amber healing beads nonsense. I felt oddly disappointed. ‘Why do you hand them out?’ I asked.

‘People get thirsty.’

That was what Lib had said too. And Welling. ‘But that isn’t really a reason,’ I said. ‘You don’t include any information on the label, so you can’t be doing it to raise awareness of an issue, or to encourage new people to join you. So why?’

A slow, crafty smile spread over Zosimon’s face. ‘You are a clever one, Ruby, and no mistake. You’re right, there is another reason why my children hand out free water. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it is. Not yet. Instead, why don’t you ask me the other question. The one you
really
want to know the answer to.’

What other question? I frowned, confused.

Zosimon nodded knowingly. ‘Is this a cult? That’s what you want to know, right?’

I hadn’t expected that. Perhaps he was bringing it up in order to deny it. Maybe it was part of the brainwashing process?

Zosimon tipped his head to the side and considered me. ‘Do you know what the botanical definition of a weed is, Ruby?’

‘No.’

‘There isn’t one. A weed is simply a word we use for a plant that is unwelcome. Is the Institute of the Boundless Sublime a cult? I don’t know. Personally I do not think so, for the simple reason that we do not promote religious belief. My technic is rooted in science, empirically proven
over many thousands of years. However, my technic is also radical, and many people fear what they don’t understand. So, like the harmless weeds, many would see us as unwelcome, unwanted. These people might call the Institute a cult. But I don’t care what those people think. I care what
you
think. That’s the beauty of life inside these walls. You get to make your own avocation.’

I nodded, but I hadn’t got the reassurance I wanted.

‘You’re uncertain,’ said Zosimon, his voice gentle. ‘That’s perfectly natural. If you were one hundred per cent convinced at this point, I’d be worried about you. All we ask of sublimates is that you be open to the possibility that life can be … something more than your previous experience.’

‘I didn’t know I’d have to give up my phone,’ I said. ‘I thought I’d be able to contact my family.’

Zosimon’s face grew very serious, and he leaned forward again. ‘Ruby, I will
never
prohibit you from contacting your family,’ he said. ‘Family is the most important thing in the world. I only ask that, in order for my technic to work, you allow yourself to truly focus. To leave behind the things that tether you to your sadness, that weigh down your actuality and pollute your mind. Let yourself be
you.
And let us lift you up. Let us be your family too.’

‘But I can still contact my mother?’

‘Of course. Perhaps we could arrange a scheduled time for you to call her. That way you can use your other time here to truly
be here
, with no distractions. Does that sound okay?’

I nodded hesitantly.

‘We are your family now,’ Zosimon explained. ‘We’re all equals. I’m not here to tell you what to do, or how to think. I can help you, if you’ll let me. But only if it’s what you want. If at any moment you don’t want to be here, you are free to leave. Do you understand?’

I nodded.

‘And do you still want to be a sublimate?’

I hesitated. What harm could it do, to stay for a few days? I could be with Fox. And if it got too weird, I could always leave.

‘Yes,’ I said at last.

Zosimon’s face broke out into a broad smile. ‘I knew you were special the very first moment you walked in here. I can tell, you know. Ruby, you’re going to be extraordinary.’

I felt an odd warmth at his words. The black tide was growing stagnant. Did I still need to hide down there in the darkness? Maybe it was time to come up into the light. This man, this bizarre, enigmatic stranger – he believed in me. He thought I was special. That I could be extraordinary.