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Martha was in her swimsuit now, the others standing awkwardly, waiting for something to happen, but unsure quite what. Perhaps for Jesus himself to come down from the clouds and suggest a rousing chorus of I have a friend in Johnathan.
'Okay then Martha, let's go.'
They began to walk out into the freezing Northern waters, Martha wincing as the waves rose higher and higher against her bare legs. They reached a point where the water was just above waist height and then stopped, got into position, the two of them facing each other amidst the dark waves, about a foot apart. Johnathan began to say something, but she couldn' quite make out what, the words were whipped away by a freezing wind and all she could hear was - 'In the name of the father, the son and the Holy Ghost' and then... And then he pushed her back into the depths. It was cold. It was fucking cold, that was all she could think. At that precise moment, as he pushed her backwards, as the chill wind rose up, as she noticed a small tattoo on Johnathan's left shoulder, as the gulls screeched overhead,as she accepted Jesus Christ into her heart, that was all she could think, the only words in her head:
'God, it's fucking cold!'
And that was it.
His hands behind her back, Johnathan lifted Martha, shivering, back from under the water.
'Congratulations,' he said, his grin impossibly large, 'you are now born again!'
'Great!' said Martha, wiping salt water from her eyes. 'Great!' she said again.
'Uh, is that it?'
'Yes,'said Johnathan, 'that's it.'
And that was it.
They waded slowly back to shoreline, Martha trying to feel different, trying to feel like something had changed. Was this what she had wanted? To be ducked underwater by some curly haired frogman? Would this make her happy? She looked around her, but everything looked the same, the sea, the beach, Johnathan splashing happily along beside her. It was a fish, his tattoo. Secretly, she had been hoping it would be a skull or a naked lady, but nothing so childish or disrespectful. It was a fish.
'Oh, congratulations,' said Eileen, standing by the water's edge, ruining her best Sunday shoes as the tide rolled in and lapped over them. 'I'm so proud of you!'
Martha smilled. And then, coming down the hill she saw the others, the younger members of the congregation, six or seven of them, shiny, happy people every one, streaming down the sand dune and onto the beach. The light of Jesus beaming from their eyes.
‘Sorry, sorry! We got lost,’ shouted one of the shiny young things, ‘Michael said he knew the way, but he didn’t.’
‘I did know the way, but they must have changed it,’ said Michael, grinning, ‘they must have moved the turning.’ For something to do, he threw his car keys into the air and caught them again two-handed, then ran over to the others, still grinning sheepishly like a naughty schoolboy. He was the spitting image of Jonathan, they were like clones somehow. Not in their faces or their bodies though. Just the eyes.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘congratulations Martha. Look at you, you’re shivering.’
‘Thanks. Has anyone got a towel?’
‘There’s one in the bag,’ said Johnathan, grinning back at Michael and then at Martha.
‘Thanks.’
She tramped back to the bottom of the dune and began to dry herself off. She was glad the others were here, it was them she had wanted here. She felt that she belonged with them. Or at least she did now, beforehand she had always felt a distance between them, felt that they had something that she didn’t, some inner secret she was not allowed to know. But now, amidst the hugs and the congratulations, wiping the wet sand from her freezing legs, now she felt she finally belonged. She felt she finally belonged somewhere. And, after all, that was the only reason she had done it, to belong. There was no other reason.
