скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Because she’s in the End Time Army. You’ve heard your Grandpa David tell us about the End Time Army in his letters, haven’t you?’
Of course I had. For as long as I could remember it had been drilled into me that I was an elite child soldier in God’s army. Every day we were training and preparing for the End Time war, which would mark the beginning of end of the world. We were told Grandpa (which is what we children were instructed to call our leader, David Berg) had been sent a prophecy directly from God that the war would begin in 1993. My brothers assured me I would be ten by then and definitely old enough to fight.
Every day we listened to tapes of Grandpa talking to us. He explained how the Antichrist was already living on earth and making his evil plans to destroy the world. He said Europe and America were already under the devil’s control but the system people who lived there didn’t even know it. That’s why they laughed at us. They thought we were crazy but that was because they were the stupid ones.
Grandpa’s tapes also explained that when the war started, floods and earthquakes would ravage the world and a deep darkness would cover the earth. Joy showed me pictures of what this would look like. It was really sad – there were no flowers and all the buildings had been destroyed. He called this the ‘great tribulation’. At the very end of the war there would be the battle of Armageddon, which is when God would fly down from the sky on his chariot. We would fight by God’s side and die, and then we’d go to live in heaven.
I couldn’t wait to get to heaven. Art was my favourite lesson because we got to draw heaven with crayons. I especially loved colouring in the outside walls of the heavenly city because they were made of precious stones, like rubies and emeralds, so I got to use lots of different colours. The main city was shaped like a pyramid and right in the middle of it there was a giant crystal skyscraper over 600 metres high. Aunty Joy said that was twice as high as the Empire State Building, which she explained was an important government building in America. Joy said anything wicked men could build God could do twice as well.
And there wasn’t just one pearly gate like the stupid system people believed, there were twelve – three on each wall.
People didn’t need to walk anywhere in this magical city, they whizzed through the air instead. And because I was going to be a glorious martyr it that meant my family would get a solid gold house on one of the top levels of the pyramid, areas reserved only for important people like us.
But absolutely the best bit about the war was that I would have a special superpower. I wanted this more than anything in the entire world. Joy promised us God would give all the children in the End Time Army an individual power when he was ready. But first we had to prove to him how brave and worthy we were.
I turned another page of the book.
Heaven’s Girl had been captured and was about to be fed to some lions. She looked really worried and I was scared for her. But as Joy continued to read out loud I worked out that the nasty men had changed their minds about throwing her to the lions because they said they wanted a bite of her themselves instead. That really got me confused. Why would they want to eat her?
In the drawing on the next page she was being held down by the soldiers. Two of them had her by the ankles, spreading her legs, while a third loosened his belt buckle.
I suddenly felt very flushed and uncomfortable.
‘Aunty Joy, what are those men doing to Heaven’s Girl?’
I knew what sex looked like – I’d seen the adults do it in their love-up sessions lots and lots of times – but this was different.
‘Can’t you see, Natacha, my dear?’ said Joy. ‘Look at what a wonderful example Heaven’s Girl is setting for you. They want to rape her by force, but Grandpa David tells us there is no such thing as rape if we follow the true laws of nature. A woman of the Bible should submit willingly to a man and satisfy him. God created sex and he created a man’s need for sex. He created woman to serve a man’s need. Heaven’s Girl is using this God-given opportunity to share the love of Jesus with these soldiers. She is going to love them so much that she will turn them back to the path of Jesus. She shares her love with a big smile and a song in her heart like all good girls should. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?’
After Aunty Joy and I finished a few more pages of the book she closed it and promised we’d read some more tomorrow. I didn’t really mind her taking it – that picture had made me feel a bit sick. I couldn’t shake the thought of Heaven’s Girl’s smiling face as the soldiers did things to her. Would I have to do that when I was bigger? Would I be brave enough?
I began to feel a bit shaky so I tried to think about what always made me feel happy – what superpower was God going to give me? My brothers and I used to argue about it all the time. Was it better to be invisible or be able to run really fast? Did boys get better ones than girls? I bawled my eyes out when my brothers teased me by insisting that they did.
I was really into the idea of shooting thunderbolts from my eyes. I would practise my pose for hours, standing with my feet firmly planted one in front of the other, and trying to look as mean and scary as possible as I narrowed my eyes into my best thunderbolt death stare.
‘Nap time.’
Aunty Joy’s voice snapped me back to reality.
‘Children, back to your room, PJs on and get on your beds, please.’
I groaned inwardly. I hated nap time. I would much rather have been allowed out to play in the garden where there was the big flame of the forest tree. The tree had big orange feathery plumes on its branches, and whenever we got a chance the other little girls and I would skip around it pretending to be princesses in a castle.
Without a word we filed back to our room, stripped down to our underwear and put on the sleeveless T-shirts that we wore as our pyjamas, before climbing onto our bunk beds. Some of the uncles had built them out of salvaged wood. The bolts holding my frame together were loose, and whenever I moved it creaked and swayed.
Uncle Ezekiel came into the room to supervise us. I hated the way he spoke through his nose.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but the images of Heaven’s Girl and the soldiers invaded my mind. I was always a fidgety child, and being mentally uneasy made it worse. I couldn’t keep still.
‘Natacha,’ barked Uncle Ezekiel. I froze at my name.
Ezekiel and Aunty Joy were sharing the single bed – she was bare breasted and her hand was moving up and down under the blanket.
‘Keep still. Go to sleep. All you children go to sleep. Now.’
I screwed my eyelids tight, willing myself to sleep, trying to ignore the squeaking and animal grunting coming from Joy’s bed. I shuffled around in a bid to get comfortable.
A strong hand clamped around my forearm. Uncle Ezekiel’s face was glaring at me.
‘You disobedient girl. Get here now.’
He dragged me out of the bed so roughly that I fell face down onto the cold floor.
Uncle Ezekiel, now completely naked, stood over me – his penis wagging like a disapproving finger. He reached towards me and pulled down my underwear. I knew better than to struggle, instead clenching my jaw for what was to come.
The fly-swat slapped down hard across my buttocks, biting at my tender skin.
I squealed, more from shock and indignation than pain, and clenched my jaw tighter, determined not to give him the satisfaction of making me cry.
‘Naughty, wicked girl,’ he cried as the swat struck again. Then a third time. ‘I hope you understand why I had to do that, Natacha. It was for your own benefit, because I love you. Now get into your bed and ask the Lord to forgive you.’
Tears silently rolled down my cheeks as Uncle Ezekiel shoved me roughly back onto my bed, my knickers still around my knees.
I lay still, my face pressing into the wall.
‘If I catch any children not sleeping then they will get the same thing,’ hissed Ezekiel, slightly out of breath.
With tears streaming I pushed my face into the pillow to wipe my snotty nose, daring not to move further. My head was throbbing and filled with images of Uncle Ezekiel cowering before me, pleading with me not to shoot him with thunderbolts from my eyes. This made me feel better, and I drifted into a fitful sleep, with pictures of Ezekiel begging for mercy.
When I woke up he was gone and Aunty Joy was smiling again.
‘Come along, children, back to class for Memory Time,’ she trilled in her sing-song accent.
In silence we climbed out of our beds, filed back into the classroom and took our seats at our little desks. My bottom still stung and my eyes felt puffy.
Joy had written some words on the blackboard and started to read them out loud: ‘Then … shall … they … deliver … you … up … to … be … afflicted … and … shall … kill … you … and … ye … shall … be … hated … of … all … nations … for … my … name’s … sake. OK, children, Bibles open at Matthew, please. Let’s all practise the verse together.’
We repeated it in unison. I couldn’t say the word afflicted. Joy saw me struggling and laughed indulgently: ‘Oh, little Natacha. AF FLIC TED. It means to suffer, like when you die.’
‘Will I suffer when I die, Aunty Joy?’ I asked her.
‘Yes, of course, little one,’ she cooed as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘What if I don’t want to?’
Aunty Joy laughed again, bathing me in her warm, beautiful smile.
‘Little Natacha, if you are not willing to suffer and die for Jesus how will you get to heaven?’
Knowing I would die at a young age was not scary for me. It was a completely normal part of my life that was reinforced by every adult I knew, including my mom and dad. But it was the suffering bit that got to me. I would spend hours secretly worrying about it. Would it hurt? Would it be slow or quick? Would the person who killed me feel bad and say sorry or would they laugh and enjoy it?
Those thoughts often kept me awake at night.
Joy’s voice snapped me back to reality. ‘Very good, children. Let’s do it again. Then … shall … they … deliver … you … up … to … be … afflicted … and … shall … kill … you … and … ye … shall … be … hated … of … all … nations … for … my … name’s … sake. And again please, children.’
And on and on we repeated it. Again. And again. And again.
Chapter 4
Dances for the King (#u7e83eae7-0420-56e3-a892-eb831942ed33)
Aunty Joy had sent me to an upstairs storeroom to fetch some books. Thrilled to be out of the stifling classroom for a few brief moments, I walked as slowly as I possibly could.
At the top of the stairs I paused, wondering how I could drag the errand out even longer. I hit upon the ruse of pretending to be a princess inspecting my castle. Haughtily I practised an exaggerated princess walk, imagining that my brother’s old hand-me-down jeans, which were two sizes too big and held up with a nylon belt, were in fact a beautiful ball gown with a big petticoat skirt. I pranced along, swishing my imaginary dress from side to side as I went.
The sight of a bedroom door, left ajar, stopped me hard in my make-believe tracks – one prancing leg still raised up above the floor. Why oh why hadn’t I noticed it sooner? Being seen or heard by the occupants was something I really didn’t want to happen.
Gingerly I put my foot down, trying to be an ever-so-quiet tiny-little mouse.
I heard the people in the room giggling.
‘Who’s there? Come on, nothing to be scared of. Come and say hi,’ said a male voice.
I winced. Saying hi was the very last thing I wanted to do.
‘Heeeelllooooo?’ came a female voice I recognised as Aunty Salome. She was from Minnesota in the United States and was married with one son, a few years older than me. I got the impression she didn’t like children very much, so I usually tried to avoid her.
The male voice spoke again: ‘Is that a demon? Or is it a little person? Is it an embarrassed little person?’
At that the pair started to giggle again, followed by a few seconds of silence before the woman let out a low little moan.
The man spoke again: ‘Hey, you kids shouldn’t be wandering about. Aren’t you supposed to be in Word Time? I’m in no mood to come out there and chastise you so pop yourself right in here and tell me what your business is.’
The tone of his voice made it clear I didn’t have much choice. Reluctantly I hovered by the entrance, trying very hard not to look inside.
‘It’s Natacha. Aunty Joy sent me up here to get some books from the cupboard. I have to get them and go back to my class. Sorry if I disturbed you, Aunty Salome.’
At that I turned to make my escape. But the man, amused now, was having none of it.
‘Why so shy, little one? We aren’t demons either. Come and say hi.’
‘I really need to get back to my class. Aunty Joy said …’ I trailed off nervously.
‘Joy won’t tell you off for being a polite little girl. One minute to say hello, that’s all we are asking. You wouldn’t deny your uncle and aunty that, would you?’ he countered.
The woman’s voice spoke back to him, slightly impatiently. ‘Stop teasing her, Peter. It’s putting me off.’ Then she snapped to me: ‘Natacha, stop being a silly girl. Show yourself like your uncle has asked you.’
I took a step into the room, still trying to avert my gaze from the bed where the two were lying. That made them laugh even harder.
‘Oh my, look at her. What a little prude. Natacha, LOOK. AT. US. We don’t bite.’
I lifted my head up. On the little side table next to the bed was a bottle of Dettol disinfectant spray, a big box of tissues and a candle. That’s what all adults kept by their bed. I knew the Dettol and tissues were for hygiene because we kids used the same. Joy had explained to me that the candle was to help them make the room look pretty and give it a nice mood during love-ups. Lying in the bed next to Salome was a man I didn’t recognise. The crumpled sheets barely covered their naked bodies.
‘I am Uncle Peter,’ he explained. ‘I live in Bangkok. I’m just visiting. Natacha? Natacha, Natacha … I know your name. I know your daddy, don’t I? You are Shepherd Moonlight’s little girl?’
I nodded.
‘Ah, you are as cute as a button, just as he said you were. Well, lovely to meet you, Natacha. You had better get those books then, hadn’t you?’
At that he stuck out his hand, offering it for me to shake. I didn’t move.
‘Come on, silly girl. I already said I don’t bite. SHAKE. MY. HAND.’
I reached forward and with the merest hint of my fingertips gave him a tiny shake. He lunged towards me, making a growling noise: ‘Grrrr. I fibbed. I do bite. Grrrrrrrrrr. Come here little girl. Let me eat you!’
I yelped, stumbling into the table.
‘Peter, quit it now. You’re scaring the poor kid!’ snapped Salome. ‘Natacha, please don’t be scared. Peter was just joking with you. He’s a big silly billy, aren’t you, Peter?’ At that she raised herself onto her elbow and leaned over him, her breasts dangling in his face. The sight of that made him forget all about me.
‘Oh, am I now, my lady? Well, maybe I am going to bite your titties. Grrrrr. Come here and let me eat YOU.’
At that the pair of them collapsed into a heap, her squealing with excited giggles, him still making the stupid roaring noise. I seized my chance and ran out.
This kind of thing was par for the course. Everywhere I looked grown-ups were having sex. They left the doors open, they had orgies in the living room, they stood kissing and groping each other in the hallways. They never made any attempt to hide it from us because they thought sexual openness was not only healthy, it was divine. Grandpa preached that love – sex – was something Jesus wanted his believers to do lots of. By being so open about it the adults weren’t trying to harm us, they genuinely thought it would make us healthier adults and better Christians too. But I hated seeing it. For me, the sight of adults making out was just gross.
Grandpa was completely open about his attitude to sex and children. We were read to from a book he wrote called The Devil Hates Sex but God Loves It. The cover of it had a naked couple making love as God smiles over them. In it Grandpa talked about children and sex: ‘How beautiful it is and how true and how Godly and how Biblical and so on, and yet how dangerous for us to even put out such a truth! I mean if you want to infuriate the system, just talk about teaching sex to children, or allowing children any sexual activities or to explore sex or anything. Whew! They’ve passed so many laws against sex it’s almost unbelievable!’
In another letter Mama Maria wrote: ‘It’s pure to us, there’s nothing wrong with it, so we let our kids be in on it, we let them get in on it if they want, we even play it with them because it’s nice, it makes them feel good and they enjoy it.’
Masses of similar letters were sent out with the instruction BAR, burn after reading. Not all of these letters were taught to us in the classroom; others were read out during group prayer sessions where the whole house, children and adults, gathered together in the dining hall for worship. I hated these occasions, not least because I always struggled to sit still. I couldn’t help but fidget, which more often than not got me a spanking.
I had a little friend called Simon who was my age. We used to hide under the stairs and have pretend sex. He would mimic exactly what he’d seen the adult men do and hump at me, pretending to penetrate me. Instead of finding it shocking the adults laughed at us. ‘Ah, they are sharing already. How cute.’
Times were financially tough in the commune and our food rations were smaller than usual due to a lack of donors willing to provide us food. We ate a lot of boiled rice or mangoes, which often had maggots inside them. One of the aunties was heavily pregnant around this time. She clearly wasn’t getting enough nutrients and didn’t look well. She was sent on a fundraising trip in the middle of the monsoon season when it was so hot and sticky that being outdoors for even a few minutes was uncomfortable. In a crowded side street she began to miscarry. She was rushed to a filthy local clinic where she delivered a stillborn baby. When she got back, white-faced and shaking, the other adults urged her to ‘get the victory’, the term they used for overcoming any and all adversity.
One morning I woke up to find everyone talking in hushed tones and looking very worried. We were ushered into the dining hall and told God had sent word that the End Time was getting nearer. I felt a shiver of fear run through me. They told us agents of the Antichrist had located Grandpa’s whereabouts and had made an attempt to capture him. I gasped. Grandpa was our King – the thought of people trying to hurt him was terrible.
The adults explained that if the devil’s forces killed our prophet, they could destroy the army he had formed to save the world – us. Therefore Grandpa had to be protected at all costs. From now on only a few trusted aides could know where he was. What wasn’t explained to us that day was that those aides were the only people, aside from Berg himself, who knew the real truth about why he needed to go into hiding. The authorities were investigating him for child abuse and suspicion of pimping.
New instructions were sent out to all communes urging us to be more cautious. Adults began to use a code of secret knocks whenever they entered a building. Anyone who went out witnessing had to telephone in before coming home again, using a secret code to gain entry. And all mail was to come in and out through secret PO boxes, which were checked twice a month in military-style operations carried out by adults in disguise. Children were given extra drills urging us not to talk to strangers or answer any questions about who we were or where we lived. We were told only to say: ‘I am sorry. I don’t know anything.’
Yet this didn’t stop the sexual nature that defined so much of life within The Family from getting more and more depraved. In Greece the group had a large commune led by a man called Paul Peloquin. The commune’s role was to produce Music with Meaning videos, which were used as learning tools for members.
We watched a film they had made called Glorify God in the Dance, in which naked pre-pubescent girls and women danced suggestively or, as it was explained to me, ‘joyfully for God’. The film had originally been made as a present for Berg but he apparently loved it so much he ordered copies of it to be sent to all communes along with his advice on how each of the women and girls could be a ‘dancing girl’ too.
This was read out to us: ‘When you rub your hands on the sides of your belly and down your crotch it’s really exciting. It really is thrilling to watch a girl caress herself, very stimulating, masturbating breasts and bum with your hands!’
I can’t say for sure if I took part in this but I think perhaps so, because today I have flashbacks of dancing while wearing a thin veil.
