A few days ago, someone posted a topic "How would JWs run a country if they had one?" This made me think, and it gave me inspiration to write a story about it. Mind you, it is just my rough draft, need to make some improvements still.
Welcome To Paradise
Glen had always been a good friend. We had worked at the same office for nearly seven years. He was a true creature of habit: bowling on Tuesdays, bar hopping on Saturdays and church on Sundays. His daily routine would be interrupted only once a year for a vacation. Glen loved to visit different places. He had been to the four corners of the earth. Each time he’d come back with a big smile on his face, and for days to come, he’d tell me every little detail of what he’d call his extravagant adventures. But not this time. Glen never came back after his last vacation. When a week had passed and there was still an empty chair behind the desk where Glen should have been, my husband Mike called some mutual friends, but nobody had heard anything about Glen’s whereabouts. We talked about finding his parents, but Glen had never mentioned any parents. On the few occasions when we talked about family, his gaze would wander off into the distance, and he would change the subject abruptly. On Tuesday night of the second week after his disappearance, I went over the items in his desk. Most of the papers on his desk were mere statistics, relating to the “125% Of All Statistics Are Exaggerated” project he had been working on. It wasn’t until I put the folders back that I saw a piece of paper sticking out from between a stack of forms. Pulling it out, I noticed that I was looking at a brochure. On the cover was a picture of a man, a woman and a child. They were sitting in an orchard. The trees were heavy with fruit. A basket with picnic items stood in the grass beside the man. The child was playing with an oversized cat – or was it a lion? Under the picture was written “Welcome To Paradise”. Inside the brochure were directions. Paradise seemed to be a small town, about 200 miles west of Indianapolis.
I took the brochure home and showed it to Mike. We talked things over that night, and decided that this brochure could lead us to Glen. We would spend out next vacation in Paradise. We would bring a picture of Glen and show it to workers in grocery stores, restaurants and hotels. We owed it to our friend Glen to at least give this a try.
A week later, we packed our bags in our 1998 blue Toyota and started the eight hour drive to Paradise. The trip was uneventful. Mike had taken the first driving shift. We had stopped at a roadside restaurant for lunch. It reminded me of our honeymoon. We had eloped to Las Vegas and we had lived on greasy French fries and burgers. Those were the good old times. We were too young back then to worry about coronary artery decease or indigestion. On the way to Paradise, however, we had read the menu carefully and ordered just a salad and some bread. After lunch, Mike had settled down in the passenger seat and I would drive for a while. Mike had fallen asleep quickly. Twelve years of marriage had taught me that it was useless to try and wake him up once he was asleep, so I kept driving. It was going on seven pm. Twilight had colored the sky with a reddish glow. I looked around while contemplating the beauty of nature. In my reverie, I almost missed the sign. “Paradise 2 miles”
I had been driving on back roads for almost an hour. I stopped the car and got out to stretch my legs. It occurred to me how lonely this last stretch of road had been. The pleasant evening breeze felt good, and so did the prospect of spending two weeks with Mike, away from home, in what seemed like a wonderful town, according to the brochure.
Mike woke up and moved to the driver’s seat. I went back into the car and Mike started driving. Relaxed now, I lit a cigarette, sat back and enjoyed the scenery. We arrived at Paradise by seven thirty pm. The entrance of town was marked by a gate, and by a huge rock. It seemed as if a whole chapter of a book had been painted on the rock. I had never seen anything like it. As Mike stopped the engine, I started reading out loud.
“Welcome to Paradise. Please take a moment to read our rules. Rule number one. Everyone MUST attend all meetings.”
Mike’s laughter interrupted me.
“My dear Lisa, I haven’t even read the instructions on the drill you gave me last Christmas. Let’s go, it is getting late.”
And thus we made mistake number one. We didn’t take that moment to read the rules.
Paradise was completely deserted. The streets were empty. The restaurants had a “closed” sign in the windows. Where could everyone be on a Tuesday evening around eight o’clock? Perhaps there was an important event somewhere?
We found a motel halfway down Joshua Street. The name of the motel was “Luke’s Place”. But Luke’s Place had a "closed" sign in the window as well. However, the sign read “closed until 9pm”. We drove around a bit, out of curiosity, and also to pass the time. The streets had funny names. Daniel Avenue, Psalms Plaza, Genesis Road, Exodus Street…. We explored this town until nine o’clock, but we never saw a living soul. I was starting to wonder if perhaps coming to Paradise had been a wrong decision. When we went back to Luke’s Place, a man was just in the process of removing the “closed” sign. He greeted us with a warm smile. He shook hands with us and introduced himself as John. When we asked John why the town was so deserted he smiled and said that the town is always deserted on Tuesday evenings because of the meeting. Mike and I looked at each other but decided not to ask for details. We would find out soon enough.
When we asked for a room, John wanted to know if we were married. Yes, Mike answered, we have been married for twelve years. John wanted to see some proof of this. Surprised, Mike told him that it was not our habit to keep our marriage certificate in the glove compartment of our car. We both held up our hands and showed our wedding rings. However, anyone can wear a ring was John’s reply. He told us that he would have to give us separate rooms, unless we could come up with more convincing proof of our union in marriage. As we could not provide such thing, and arguing turned out to be useless, we had to agree on separate rooms. John informed Mike that he would take him to his room, and John’s wife Carmella, who had appeared in the doorway, would take me to my room. Carmella greeted us as cordially as John had done just a few minutes ago. Dazed by this unexpected turn of events, I followed Carmella down the hallway. The room was immaculate. It smelled fresh and the walls held wonderful pictures of nature. I quickly scanned the room but could not detect an ashtray. I asked Carmella if she would mind bringing an ashtray up to the room. She looked as if I had just hit her with a wet towel.
“I am sorry, but smoking is not allowed anywhere in Paradise” she said.
“But where am I supposed to smoke then?” I asked.
“God does not approve of smoking” was the short reply.
“Morning prayer starts at seven am and breakfast is at eight” Carmella said, and then she left.
Morning prayer? The only prayer I needed right now was one to keep my sanity.
I pushed the nightstand in front of the door, because being separated from Mike made me feel rather uneasy. Thank goodness, the bathroom had a window, I turned off the light, opened the window and hung myself halfway out the window to smoke a cigarette. Luckily, the cigarettes had been on sale at the casino last week, so I had bought two cartons. Those should last through my vacation in Paradise, as I doubted that they would sell cigarettes here. I flushed the butt down the toilet and went to bed. Sleep came easily after such a long drive. I woke up by a crackling noise. It was then that I noticed the speaker in the ceiling. A male voice announced that morning prayers would start in 30 minutes. I quickly showered and decided to wear my sexy shorts. Mike and I had not spent a single night away from each other since we were married and I knew he would appreciate my shorts. The thought made me smile. Twenty minutes later, I walked down the hallway. Carmella came running towards me, her voice near panic. She told me that I had to wear a dress or a skirt to morning prayers.
“A dress or a skirt!” I exclaimed. I haven’t worn such things in years. Heck, I don’t even have dresses or skirts. Carmella handed me one of her own dresses. Since she was several inches taller than me, and the dress was the kind that touches the ground, I had to lift it up in order to walk. I was just in time for morning prayers. Mike was already seated at the table. He was wearing a shirt and tie. My guess was that the shirt and tie belonged to John. The sight of my husband, sitting at the table, wearing a shirt and tie nearly caused a burst of laughter on my part, but I was able to stifle the laughs. John held the morning prayer, I dozed off and woke up at the sound of “Amen” and noticed that an hour had passed. During breakfast, Mike asked John if there were any interesting places around to go sightseeing. John suggested we visit the print shop on our first day. Or perhaps we could visit the lion taming area.
Since we were both avid readers, we decided to visit the print shop first. It was located at the corner of Matthew Street and Revelation Street. The print shop was a fifteen-story building. We were greeted ever so cordially by our tour guide James. He led us through dozens of rooms where books were being printed in many different languages. We also visited the translation offices, as well as the proof reading department. Each office had a modest sign on the door, indicating the purpose of that particular office. Down the hallway on the tenth floor I noticed a door with a “authorized personnel only” sign. By the time we had reached that floor, I was in desperate need of a cigarette. I snuck into the forbidden space. Ahead of me unfolded a long hallway with 6 doors on each side. Each door had the same sign. “History re-writing section”. Now, that was strange! The sound of type writers penetrated many of the doors, but the fifth room on the left was silent. If you are a smoker, then you will know that when you need a cigarette, you really need one. I was willing to take the risk of being caught and opened the door to the fifth room. Nobody seemed to be there. The door could be locked from the inside, so I locked it and quickly lit my cigarette. After the second drag, I heard a male voice. It came from under the desk and it scared the heck out of me.
The voice said “Don’t be afraid, I know that you are smoking, but I am on your side. I am coming out now.”
A middle aged man crawled out of the tiny space under the desk. He sat down in the office chair and pushed a round item in my direction.
“What is this?” I asked.
“This is a smokeless ashtray” he replied. “The best invention since the wheel.” “When you put your butt in here, it releases an odor which neutralizes the smell of smoke in the room immediately. Ever since my sister sent me this lovely item, I have become the most popular man around here. And a wealthy man as well. I charge fifty cents for each butt.”
“So are you telling me that more people smoke around here?”
“Yes” he said, “but the punishment for getting caught is severe.”
“What is the punishment for getting caught?” I asked.
The man did not reply. A darkness came over his face and I guessed that it might be better to leave the subject well alone.
I finished my cigarette, threw the butt in the smokeless ashtray and handed him fifty cents. He led me down a different hallway and led me back to where the guide was talking to Mike. He quickly gave me some breath mints and disappeared.
By the time we had reached the eleventh floor, the speakers, which seemed to be present everywhere, announced that the noon prayer would start in ten minutes. I was still wearing Carmella’s dress, but Mike had put John’s tie in his back pocket. I helped him to get the tie straightened out, and we followed the crowd to the noon prayer room. Another hour passed. I didn’t pay much attention to what was being said. Instead, I peeked around the crowded room. I didn’t seem to be the only one peeking. Every once in a while my eyes would meet someone else’s eyes. I’d smile and think haha, you’re caught. In spite of the weird situation Mike and I had walked into, my sense of humor had not left me.
After the noon prayer, Mike and I decided to get out of the stuffy offices and find something to eat. We found a nice diner on Mark Street. After being seated by a friendly waitress, we each ordered a BLT and some coffee. The waitress brought us empty plates and empty cups. A half hour later, the plates and cups were still empty. Puzzled, we called the waitress and asked how much longer until our lunch would arrive.
“Oh your lunch has been ready and waiting for twenty minutes” the waitress replied.
“Is it going to grow legs and walk to the table? Mike asked irritated.
“I am waiting to serve it until you have prayed” the waitress replied. “I cannot serve food until the customers have finished their prayers.”
Mike said that we had patiently endured an hour of morning prayer and an hour of noon prayer and that we were a bit prayed out. However, another half hour passed and it was obvious that there would be no food without prayer, so we obediently bowed our heads for a few minutes. As soon as we lifted out heads up again, the waitress served our food. Hungry now, we ate our BLTs in record time. An old man was seated at the table next to ours. I had noticed earlier that he looked very pale. Just when we finished eating lunch, the old man passed out. Mike ran over to his table and yelled to nobody in particular to call a doctor. The waitress approached and told Mike that there are no doctors in Paradise.
“We are never ill in Paradise” the waitress said.
“But this man is obviously ill and he needs medical attention” was Mike’s reply.
The waitress assured us that the old man was not ill, he just had a spiritual weak moment. Nothing more, nothing less. The man opened his eyes and apologized for the inconvenience.
After lunch, we paid and left a tip on the table. The waitress caught us on our way out the door. She gave the tip back to Mike and told him that tips should be placed in the gift box on the corner of Kings Street.
Dutifully, we drove to Kings Street and placed the tip in the dedicated box. By now we had gotten used to the unusual and we just tried to go with the flow.
We visited the lion taming area in the afternoon. The lions were divided over several cages, ranging from “wild” to “almost tame”. We were allowed to feed the almost tame lions, but we had to keep our distance from the cages that held the wild ones.
Since the place was rather busy with people, we decided to show Glen’s picture around. We approached many people, showing the picture and asking if anyone had seen this man. The answers were negative, until we showed the picture to a woman who was cradling a baby.
“Oh, that is Glen” she said.
My heart skipped a beat. We were going to find Glen after all. We were not enduring this craziness in vain. We asked the woman where we would be able to find Glen. She told us that he lived on Judas Street. We thanked the woman and left.
Once we were back in the car, we opened the street map that we had bought on the way to Kings Street. We could not find Judas Street. We looked at the index where the streets were listed alphabetically, but there was no Judas Street to be found. Puzzled, we went to a grocery store and asked for directions. When the storekeeper heard the name “Judas Street”, his smile slipped off his face. He told us that perhaps we should ask someone else.
We did.
We asked eight different people and the reactions varied from turning red in the face to turning away from us.
Since Paradise was not too big of a town, we decided to drive up and down every single street until we found Judas Street. But it would have to wait until tomorrow, because it was going on dinner time and evening would drape the town in darkness soon.
We went back to “Luke’s Place where dinner would be served at eight pm according to the motel brochure. We arrived at Luke’s Place at seven pm. John urged us to go to the prayer room, because we only had a minute left until evening prayer. Another hour of head bowing and peeking passed at the pace of a snail. We had dinner at eight and made sure to bow our heads in order to see something appearing on our plates.
After dinner we went to our separate rooms. I began my evening routine of pushing the night stand in front of the door and hanging out the window to smoke a cigarette.
It was difficult to fall asleep that night. It had been a strange day and I couldn’t help wondering what the next day would have in store for us. I thought about the normal life which lay in a world four hundred miles away.
The speaker in the room woke me up at six thirty in the morning, just as it had done the day before. I pretended to have a headache and stayed in bed through the morning prayer.
I took a shower and decided to wear my comfortable jeans. Carmella stopped me once again in the hallway and gave me another one of her dresses. She said I would need a dress for the noon prayer. I thanked her, grabbed Mike by the arm and dragged him out the door. I was eager to start the search for Judas Street. To my utmost surprise, Mike told me that the morning prayer had been interesting.
“Interesting?” I asked incredulously. “How can an hour worth of rambling be interesting?”
He admitted that he didn’t know, but repeated that he had found some interest in the morning prayer. John had also given him a copy of “the rules”, which he had read in bed last night. He said that there was a meeting on Thursday and that we would get to know everyone in town because everyone goes to the meetings.
Mike started the car and we began out Paradise tour. He drove slowly through each street, but still we did not come upon Judas Street. When it was going onto noon, Mike told me that we should stop somewhere and catch the noon prayer. I told him that he was free to go by himself. He stopped at the printing place we had visited the day before. I told him I’d wait in the car. Mike disappeared into the building and I drove around a bit until I found a quiet place where I could light a cigarette without being disturbed.
After I picked up Mike, we went out for lunch and drove around again. We had checked out every street in Paradise and there was no such thing as Judas Street. We were starting to wonder if perhaps the street only existed in the imagination of a woman. But then, she did mention Glen’s name when she saw the picture.
Paul Street, which had taken us out of town, ended abruptly into a dirt road. We saw recent tracks in the dirt, so we decided to follow the tracks. After six miles of difficult driving on dirt and stones, we came to a junction. The road to the left did not have a road sign, but the one leading to the right had an old, fallen down sign. I stepped out of the car and picked up the sign. The paint was weathered, but one could still read the words “Judas Street”.
We followed this dirt road for about two miles, but then the driving got very tough because of rocks and holes in the road. In the distance, we could make out the shape of houses. We parked the car on the side of the road and started walking. The sun was going down when we finally arrived by the houses. Did I say houses? No, they were mere shacks. There were no power lines, and no phone lines. Some windows were held together with duck tape. The disarray on Judas Street was a far cry from the clean and nicely kept streets in Paradise. What happened here, I wondered?
A man, wearing worn out jeans with patches on the knees was walking down the street. We showed him Glen's picture, asking if he knew where we could find this person.
“That’s our Glen”, the man said. “He lives in the red house on the right there.”
His bony finger pointed at a nearby trailer that needed some serious repair.
We walked to the trailer. We didn’t dare knocking on the door out of fear that the door might fall off its hinges, so we went right in.
Glen was sitting on an old, ripped couch. He was reading in the bible. He held the bible close to a candle, which was the only source of light in the room.
He looked up and the amazement and joy, which lit his face when he saw us, was too big to describe.
After a series of hugs and delightful cries, we told him our story from the brochure on his desk until our arrival on Judas Street. Glen looked at us and through tears, told us that God had blessed him after all with good friends.
He then told his own story.
Glen had grown up in Paradise. A few days after he had turned twenty-one, he had come down with the flu. On the second night of his flu attack, he had developed a high fever. He had barely slept that night and never heard the morning prayer announcement. The owners of the print shop would be present for the morning prayer that day, so it had been important to make a good impression. That day of all days, he had overslept. He had woken up just a few minutes before seven. There had been no time to shower or shave. He had shown up for the morning prayer with an unshaven face, uncombed hair and his tie only half tied. This was considered an offence, and as was the custom, offenders were banned to live on Judas Street for a certain amount of time. Instead of obeying, he had opposed to it. He had tried to explain to the council how the flu had gotten a hold of him and how he had overslept that morning. The fact that he had opposed the council’s decision would only result in more time on Judas Street.
Once he had arrived on Judas Street, he had heard horror stories of people who had lived there for fifty years and more, often for minor offences.
Two years went by and Glen was still living on Judas Street. He had not seen his parents or his siblings. That was when he decided that it had been enough. He moved out and made a living for himself far away from Paradise. But as the years passed, he started to miss his parents and his siblings. When he found a brochure for Paradise, he had cried for days until he had decided that he had to go back to Judas Street, as it would be the only way to ever see his parents again. He never told us, because he didn’t know how to tell such thing to ordinary people.
We stayed overnight at Glen’s place and went back to downtown Paradise the next morning.
We visited Glen’s parents and told them how much he missed and loved them. His parents assured us that it was necessary for Glen to live on Judas Street until he would come to his senses. I couldn’t help myself and told them that he had come to his senses years ago. Where was the mercy? Where was the love?
As our first week’s vacation passed in Paradise, we went to visit Glen daily. At the start of the second week however, John told us that we would have to move out of his motel if we kept visiting people on Judas Street. I was furious, and Mike tried to calm me down, saying that perhaps John was right.
I had seen much change in Mike during this past week, He seemed to look forward to going to the morning, noon and evening prayer. He had even gone shopping for a suit and a tie. It worried me a great deal. He had talked about finding some property to buy in Paradise. He had purchased a briefcase to put his books and magazines in,
On Thursday morning, he gave me a present. I unwrapped it and saw a blue dress. Not the sexy kind, but the kind that covers everything a woman normally wishes to show. A horrible panic crept into every pore of my body.
©copyright Chris W 2005