He looked tanned, rested and as handsome as ever. His eyes grew wet again as he looked around at the cheering throng, pressing his hand over his heart and making one of his self-deprecating little bows. When he walked to Mazu, who was holding baby Yixin in her arms, he embraced her and delightedly examined the baby, as though it was his own – which, Robin suddenly realised, she might well be. The screams of the crowd became deafening, and Robin made sure to clap so enthusiastically her hands hurt.
From the car behind Wace’s, five young people emerged, all of them strangers, and Robin thought, mainly because of their perfect teeth, they were American. Two preppy young men and three noticeably beautiful young women, all dressed in white UHC tracksuits, stood beaming at the British church members, and Robin guessed that they’d been brought over to Chapman Farm from the San Francisco centre. She watched as Jonathan introduced them one by one to Mazu, who received them graciously.
That evening, there was another feast in the dining hall, which had once again been decorated with scarlet and gold paper lanterns. They were served real meat for the first time in weeks, and Wace gave a long, impassioned speech about the wars in Syria and Afghanistan, and lambasted the campaign speeches of presidential candidate Donald Trump. The American visitors, Robin noticed, nodded vehemently as Wace painted a vivid picture of the fascist terror that would be unleashed should Trump win the election.
Once Wace had described the horrors of the materialist world, he moved on to describe the UHC’s continuing success, and explain how the church alone could turn back the forces of evil now rallying across the planet. He praised the American visitors for their fundraising efforts and described the imminent creation of a new UHC centre in New York, then summoned various individuals onto the stage to praise them for their individual efforts. Evidently Mazu had been keeping Wace informed about happenings at Chapman Farm, because Amandeep was one of those called to the stage. He sobbed and shook his head as he approached Wace, who embraced him before announcing that Amandeep had now equalled the record for funds raised in a single day for the church. The five Americans who’d just arrived stood up to applaud and whoop, their fists pumping in the air.
When Wace’s speech ended, music broke out, just as it had at the end of the last feast, and people began to dance. Robin got up, too: she was determined to show willing whenever possible, and hoped to find a way, in the crush, to speak to either Will or Emily. However, this proved impossible. She found herself instead dancing opposite Kyle, who’d once been a high-level recruit, but whose inability or refusal to have sex with Vivienne had seen him relegated to one of the lowliest farm workers. Blank-faced, he moved jerkily in front of Robin, never meeting her gaze, and she wondered where he was imagining himself, until she noticed that his mouth was constantly, silently moving in a chant unrelated to the music.
Breakfast at Chapman Farm was usually the quietest meal of the day, given that it happened at half past five in morning. During Jonathan Wace’s previous stay at the farm his appearances at communal meals had been limited to two dinners, so when Wace and Mazu entered the hall at six o’clock the morning following his arrival, Robin gathered from the looks of surprise from all around her that this was highly unusual. There was an outbreak of uncertain applause: heads turned, and total silence fell as Wace clambered back onto the stage, already wearing his microphone. Mazu stood behind him, unsmiling, her face shadowed by her long wings of black hair.
‘My friends,’ said Wace, with a sad smile, ‘my beloved wife has suffered a loss. Some of you may have noticed, she wears a special pendant – a mother-of-pearl fish. It once belonged to Daiyu, the Drowned Prophet. The fish was found in Daiyu’s bed on the morning of her ascension.’
A little gasp ran through the hall.
‘My wife realised two days ago that the cord had broken and the fish is lost. She’s looked, but hasn’t found it. You understand, I’m sure, that I’m not asking you to search for a meaningless, materialist token. This is an artefact of the church. We – Mazu and I – will be deeply grateful to whoever manages to retrieve this precious item. I’m asking you all to set aside your usual tasks and help us find it.’
