“Do you hate Johan?” asked Gerty.

  “No, I don’t hate him. I have seen him be kind to people too. I think it’s just when he is doing things for the village he feels he needs to shout and be bossy. I like him when he isn’t shouting.”

  “Ok, I won’t say you said anything, but I will try and talk to him later.”

  Eric was thankful for Gerty’s courage and her willingness to confront her big brother.

  *

  “How do you think Eric did today?” asked Gerty over the table.

  Johan looked up from his plate, knife and fork in hand.

  “He did fine. He’s a hard worker.”

  “I think he is too, but… it was his first time today and you were really hard on him.”

  Johan looked startled. “Was I?” He sat back in his chair, recalling the events of the afternoon.

  “You are such a kind person,” Gerty reassured him. “But Eric felt a little sad about how you were angry with him.”

  Johan sat forward again, and Gerty was pleased that he seemed to be listening.

  “I guess I never thought about it. I’m glad you’ve said something. I don’t want to discourage Eric. I just want everyone to do a good job. I think maybe I shout at him because that’s how I was taught in the army.”

  “I thought so,” said Gerty. “I remember watching you on parade in the town square. The man shouting at you all frightened me.”

  Johan smiled through sad eyes.

  “He was shouting at us to help us learn how to stay alive. He was shouting to make us into better soldiers.”

  “But everyone is safe here, aren’t they?” replied Gerty. “And we have time to learn.”

  “I guess you’re right. Still, we need to have focus and discipline.”

  Afterwards, Gerty thought about what her brother had said but decided that she didn’t completely agree with him.

  As the weeks passed, Eric steadily improved in his thatching skills and joined Johan and several other men and women roofing new structures around the village.

  One lunchtime, Eric was sitting with Gerty and Johan enjoying some of the fresh bread made at the bakery that morning.

  “You’re dropping crumbs everywhere,” Johan remarked impatiently as Eric tucked into his currant bun.

  Eric glanced up, embarrassed, but no longer surprised by his brusque manner. Brushing the crumbs from his shirt, he summoned up the courage to speak, “But Johan, we are outside.”

  Johan was not used to Eric talking back. Johan cleared his throat, got up and walked away.

  “He’s always telling me off!” said Eric indignantly.

  “I know,” acknowledged Gerty. “I did try to speak to him about it, but he doesn’t seem to realise that he is harder on you than on anyone else.”

  “Yoo-hoo,” called Yvonne, calling from across the field

  Eric and Gerty waved back.

  Eric jumped up as he recognised his father, Ebo, walking with Yvonne. “Come and see our roof!”

  “Oh, it’s spectacular!” marvelled Ebo. “Great job, son, and well done Gerty, too. Did you do this one yourselves?”

  “Johan did help a little,” admitted Eric, just as Johan rounded the corner of the building having heard voices.

  Ebo greeted him with a broad smile. “Johan, I see you are teaching these young ones very well.”

  Johan did not return the greeting.

  Noticing the awkwardness between the two men, Yvonne was quick to add, “I think you’re all doing a great job.”

  “And what are you doing today?” Johan asked, directing his question to Yvonne.

  “We’re looking at some fields to the west. They are ready for more crops to be planted, and we have received a shipment of seeds. Ebo is going to head up the cultivation project.”

  “You will be in charge, Pa?” asked Eric, with pride in his voice.

  “I guess I will be,” said Ebo. “But it’s a team effort.”

  “Yes,” added Johan. “A team effort.”

  “What is it with him?” asked Ebo, as he and Yvonne continued back to the village hall.

  A familiar and warm feeling came over Yvonne. She knew it was Ruach. A picture formed itself in her mind. She saw Johan as a boy, wearing the uniform of a Nazi soldier. Before him a children’s book lay open with grotesque racist illustrations on its pages. In that moment Yvonne understood how Johan was still influenced by the racist culture that had shaped him from an impressionable age.

  Ebo knew the answer to his question. Although he tried to quell his anger, part of him was seething that even here on the New Earth he still faced prejudice. He didn’t want to voice his suspicions and create problems in the village. For the most part he and his family felt welcomed and accepted.

  Yvonne sensed Ebo’s mood. “Some folk still have so much to work through.”

  “Well, I guess that’s just fine. And what about you, Yvonne? What do you have to work through?”

  Yvonne was surprised by the sarcasm in Ebo’s tone. “I would like to tell you, but I don’t want to give you defensive answers.”

  Ebo was stopped short. He shook his head and turning to face Yvonne, he saw empathy in her eyes.

  “Oh, I am sorry.”

  He shook his head again. “Yvonne, I am sorry. I’m not asking you to make everything right, but I have to tell you, I am feeling angry.”

  “I know,” said Yvonne. “I hear you.”

  The two sat and talked, Ebo shared his frustrations. When the conversation reached a plateau, Yvonne reached down and took Ebo’s hands.

  “Come, let’s go and see the seed delivery.”

  *

  Johan woke with the birdsong as he did every morning. His village, surrounded by pine forest, was shrouded in a delicate pink mist. Though he had now been living there for three years, the peaceful atmosphere that reigned each day was still striking. Johan enjoyed his job, which had evolved from thatching into general building maintenance.

  When he woke, he loved to get out of bed and do one hundred press-ups, feeling his body’s natural strength. This was part of his normal routine, but today was a special day. It was three years to the day since he had been reunited with his sister.

  Gerty was now ten years old, counting from her birth in the Previous Age and including her years after resurrection. She benefitted from having grown up mostly on the New Earth and possessed a wisdom that constantly surprised Johan.

  On awakening, Gerty laughed with delight to see the special cake that Johan had made her sitting proudly on the kitchen table.

  “It’s our three-year rebirthday!” he announced.

  “It doesn’t feel that long at all!”

  “That’s true. Time here is so different.”

  “What are you doing today?” asked Gerty, demolishing a large slice of cake.

  “Varnishing the wheel at the mill. How about you?”

  “We’re continuing our experiments with crossbreeding tomato plants at school. Eric has some really interesting new ideas to try.”

  “Is that right?” said Johan.

  “You always do that!”

  “Do what?”

  “Be sarcastic when I mention Eric! Why can’t you just accept him?”

  Johan felt sad that he had disappointed Gerty, but he couldn’t deny that he still had negative feelings about Eric and his family.

  “Ok. It’s our special day today and I want to show you that I’m listening.”

  There was a polite knock at the door, and when Johan swung it open, there stood Yan with a backpack full for the day of work ahead.

  “Varnishing day!” Yan announced.

  “Right,” said Johan. “Let’s go.”

  Gerty came to the door and waved them off on their way to the river. The village was bustling into life with people setting off for work, and the narrow streets were filled with the sound of friendly chatter as people stopped to greet their neighbours.

  “Hello, you two!” called a familiar voice to their right.

  Yvonne was carefully descending a steep path with a wheelbarrow full of fresh compost. She had spent several hours the previous evening in deep meditation thinking about Johan’s past and was pleased to see him.

  “Hi Johan, shall we get some lunch together sometime this week?”

  Johan was a little taken by surprise, but he felt a great affection for Yvonne and was pleased to be asked.

  “Yes, I’d like that very much. What about tomorrow?”

  “I’ll come and find you at the mill at midday.”

  “Ok, right…” Johan suddenly felt a little self-conscious and was unable to finish his sentence.

  “See you both soon!” chirped Yvonne as she headed off in the direction of the plant nursery.

  Yan slapped Johan on the back. “You ok?” he chuckled.

  “Yes, it’s just… I haven’t been asked to spend any time with her before.”

  “Ah, she’s great. You’ll get along very well.”

  Soon the two men were happily coating the wheel at the watermill with varnish made from tree sap. Some of the bakery team arrived to fetch freshly ground flour from the mill and several conversations were struck up between the various working parties.

  Further up the river a group were partly damming the flow of the water to create a swifter current. The sound of people singing together drifted back downstream. The day was warm, but a gentle breeze kept the air fresh. The work was hard, but everyone enjoyed the physical activity and the power of their resurrection bodies.

  Fran: A Lost Opportunity

  Fran awoke to birdsong not far from her bedroom window. Though she would never have admitted it to any of her neighbours, she loved her new living space and was exceedingly pleased with how beautiful her village was. Days started peacefully with the natural world around the village slowly stirring, and as the morning wore on the members of the community began their activities.

  But this morning Fran’s sense of contentment was short-lived as she groaned, remembering that she was nearly out of water. This meant a trip to the wellspring and interaction with people.

  “Why couldn’t they have put in decent plumbing?” she thought to herself as she procrastinated in bed. “Surely ‘heaven’ could have taken on the best of human technology from the Previous Age!”

  Mulling these thoughts, Fran dressed and went downstairs. She and her husband had always taken it in turns to get up and make the early morning pot of tea on the gas stove at home. Keith and Fran had shared their lives for twenty-three years before her death. Keith was a steady man, who worked hard at his job on the railway. He liked watching football, seaside holidays, fish and chip suppers on a Friday and the occasional flutter on the horses. Typical of many young people in Britain in the early 1960s, they had met at the local dance hall and dated for six months before getting engaged. They were married in the local church within the year and soon started a family. Fran had enjoyed their simple life together, and Keith’s hard work meant their family had never wanted for anything.

  But life was different now. Making tea needed water, and water had to be fetched. You also needed wood for the stove to heat the water, so wood had to be gathered. There was plenty of wood to be found, and Fran didn’t have to go far to collect it. There were particular trees that seemed to drop perfectly sized twigs and branches specifically for human use. The whole process of making tea thus entailed regular interaction with the land and its natural resources, which were varied and plentiful. Fruit trees, berry bushes and root vegetables grew in abundance and were larger and more nutritious than in the Previous Age. Mushrooms, edible bark and delicious tree saps, similar to maple syrup, added to the variety of food that was freely available for everyone across the New Earth. Hunger and lack were things of the past.

  However, food still needed to be harvested and prepared. In the Previous Age, Fran had only needed to go to the shops to buy everything they needed. This she had done every few days, enjoying the opportunity to catch up with all the latest gossip from the various shopkeepers and acquaintances she would meet on the local high street. But here on the New Earth, Fran was irritated by the need to gather what she needed. She felt it was a rather primitive and unrefined way to live.

  Fran peeked through her net curtains. Her view took in the village green and several of the cottages on the other side. As on most mornings, she noted the twitching curtains in the window of the cottage directly opposite and was irritated that someone else was observing her and the neighbourhood. Fran tutted and went into the kitchen.

  “Damn!” she cursed under her breath, realising that the fire in the wood burner had gone out and the water in her kettle was tepid. She put some twigs on the embers, hoping they would catch alight.

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” she wailed, as the last glow in the embers faded. Glancing through her kitchen window she was infuriated to see Imelda watching her from over the hedge.

  Fran marched through the back door and up to her side of the boundary.

  “Morning, Fran,” smirked Imelda. “How’re things?”

  “Fine, thank you,” snapped Fran defiantly. “But my fire has gone out.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry for you! Want a splint from mine?”

  “That would be… thank you,” she said briskly.

  “Come around the front,” invited Imelda.

  As Fran approached Imelda’s door, it opened and her breath was taken away by the sight of a beautiful full-length coat hanging proudly on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. It was made of sumptuous purple cloth with bright golden buttons and was just like the ones she had seen wealthy women wear about town when she was a teenager. Imelda was pleased to see Fran’s reaction. She held the splint close, making Fran come nearer to take it.

  “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile, before hurrying back to her cottage.

  Imelda closed her door, satisfied with the exchange.

  Fran felt so flustered that it took her four attempts to light the kindling from the splint. She seethed as she stood and watched the flames spread in the wood burner.

  “How the hell did she get that?” she whispered to herself as she leant against the kitchen wall waiting for the kettle to boil.

  Next door, Imelda gazed lovingly at the coat. She had drawn the design herself and then shown it to her neighbour, Dawn, who had been happy to show off her needlework skills.

  *

  Dawn’s finger stung from a pin prick.

  “Oh, poor you!” cried Imelda as Dawn hurried to the bathroom to wash off the blood before it stained the silk garment in her hands. While she was gone, Imelda’s eyes remained fixed on the dress that was beginning to take shape.

  Dawn sat back down and continued to sew the hem she was working on.

  “I really need this dress finished in the next hour. Do you think that’s possible?”

  “Forgive me, Imelda,” said Dawn meekly. “I’m so clumsy when I’m working this fast.”

  Imelda raised her eyebrows. “Well, I guess you are doing your best,” she said with a note of exasperation and returned to her daydream. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Fran’s face when she would open the door to her later that evening wearing her new creation.

  Making things brought Dawn satisfaction and she had always been talented with a needle and thread. Like all the women in the village, she had been born in the second half of the twentieth century in the Previous Age, and she had run a successful dressmaking business in Birmingham, England. Dawn’s heart was generous, but she had a tendency to store up bitterness and grudges. She was happy to demonstrate her skills by working with Imelda but was beginning to feel frustrated with Imelda’s self-centredness.

  “You know, maybe some of the other girls would like some new clothes too?” suggested Dawn, trying not to sound too assertive, as she wanted to remain in Imelda’s good books.

  “Yes, all in good time. There might well be a chance to make a lot of…” Imelda stopped. “Hang on. What do we make here, if we can’t make money?”

  “Well, when I was running my own business, there were times when we traded things rather than getting paid. I had quite a good deal going with a gardener. In exchange for dressmaking and repairs, she would spend a few hours doing jobs in my garden.”

  “Well, yes, obviously we could do some swaps.”

  Dawn sighed quietly. Imelda seemed to have the knack of making her feel small and of little consequence.

  “But how would we split things?” she ventured.

  “No need to worry about that now. We can decide nearer the time. Now come on, I want to try this on so you can make adjustments before I go. Then you can start on this blouse design I’ve come up with. I think you’ll agree I’ve excelled myself this time.”

  “Yes, Imelda,” said Dawn as she continued with her sewing, pushing down her growing resentment.

  *

  Fran tried desperately not to look at Imelda’s dress as she stepped inside her neighbour’s cottage. Imelda took the bunch of herbs Fran had brought with her from her garden.

  “These will do I suppose.”

  Fran hardly heard her, trying to look anywhere but at her neighbour.

  “So, a new and rather ravishing dress!” cried Imelda, striking a pose.

  “Well, yes,” replied Fran with fake nonchalance. “It’s…” she deliberately paused, “… very nice.”

  Imelda could sense Fran was struggling to hide her envy, and so she kept pushing.

  “Of course it’s all silk, you know. And New Earth silk feels just sublime. You can’t imagine until you’ve tried it. I feel like I’ve been raised all over again!”

  Fran pursed her lips and cocked her head to one side, trying to unnerve Imelda with a critical eye.

  Imelda wasn’t deterred.

  “And actually, I’m soon going to be a wealthy woman. It won’t be much longer until I can upgrade to a much nicer neighbourhood.”

  Fran saw her chance to catch Imelda out.

  “Haven’t you heard? That’s not at all how things work here.”

  Imelda was determined not to reveal any cracks in her veneer of confidence.

  “Oh, is it that right? And who did you hear that from? Jesus Christ himself?”