Surprise

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  ‘Anyway, we got in the car, put on our seatbelts; I made a little grab for him, which he didn’t seem to mind—I just had to get a feel of it, you know. Then he calmly reaches in his jacket pocket, as it might be for a fag, and hoiks out this kind of fob, and says, very pleased with himself indeed, “You might as well drive round to the station, I’m a police officer.” ’ I was quite speechless and James was shaking from the recollection and from having brought off his story. I had been with him all the way at a nodding, trainer’s distance and then he had knocked me out. But it wasn’t quite over. ‘I didn’t say a word, but started the car, and of course just as I did so my bleep went. Then I saw the evening was inevitable in a different way, and the irony was all working overtime in that hideous way it can do. So it was my turn to grope in my breast pocket for my little professional accoutrement. I tried to make something of this with what now seems a fantastic gallantry and said how neither of us was what he seemed. I needn’t have fucking bothered. He changed completely and became all textbook—not actually taken down and used in evidence et cetera, but calling me sir and not giving an inch (as it were) …’ ‘James,’ I had become angry. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything about this for obvious reasons. I have had that man—Colin he’s called, isn’t he?’ He nodded. ‘I picked him up on the Tube, ages ago, just after we’d seen him at the baths. He followed me off the train, almost invited himself back to my place. I fucked him. He fucked me. He’s as queer as—whatever is very, very queer: me, you. He can’t possibly get away with this pretty policeman thing.’ James looked at me very closely. Under no other circumstances could all this have been good news to him.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Actually in the bed, its wide featureless face absurdly crowned by a panama hat, lay a full-sized human effigy. It was only the rudimentary dummy that schoolboys make to suggest their sleeping forms in the near-darkness of an abandoned dorm, but in the light of a summer afternoon the bunched-up bedding and clothes of which it consisted were revealed as glaringly offensive. Its lolling pillow of a head was meant not to deceive but to warn. Looped around it, and displayed over the bedcover, was an Old Wykehamist tie, ineptly knotted, which made me remember, for a second, how my mother used to stand behind me at the mirror each morning to knot my tie when I was a little boy. Red rose petals were scattered artistically around, and where the heart of the effigy might have been there was a rust-red stain on the white bedspread that did resemble the colour of long-dried blood. I reached for a little bottle on the bedside table: it was vanilla essence. After we’d looked at it for a bit, I let Charles turn, and sit down on the edge of the bed, and then yanked the doll apart, casting its hat on to an armchair and rolling up the tie. ‘You recognise that tie,’ said Charles, with surprising detachment. I smiled. ‘What a pickle, eh?’ And indeed it was the general state of the room, in which a fight had clearly taken place, that had shocked me when I first entered it. The composition on the bed had been in bizarre, attentive contrast to the slewed pictures, toppled knick-knacks and pillaged drawers of the rest of the room. ‘I can’t take another of these melodramas,’ Charles said. Though I was deeply curious, I felt a strong reluctance to ask Charles what had taken place, or to probe the humiliation he had undergone. I helped him to take off his jacket and shoes, and laid him down on the pillow that had recently imitated his head. As if entranced, he was asleep within seconds. 5The first instalment of Charles’s papers was crammed into an old briefcase. Carrying it on the Underground, I felt like a young schoolmaster, taking home a bag bulging with books and essays. It was heavy, as I lolled in the crowded train, holding it by its charred leather handle, which had been strengthened with black insulating tape and was slightly sticky to the touch.

• From What Belongs to You (2016)

  He was unshaved and unkempt, thinner than he had been, though he had always been thin; it was as if he had been worn away somehow in the months since I had seen him. He stood with his shoulders slumped, his hands—which I remembered in constant motion, always seeking some occupation—shoved firmly in his pockets. Dobur vecher , he said, a formal greeting, as if he were unsure of his footing, and I repeated it back to him in the same tone. But I wasn’t unhappy to see him. Something in me leapt up at the sight of him, despite his state and my desire to keep a tight rein on my feeling. We stood for a moment looking at each other (what did he see, I wondered, what tale of the two years did the sight of me tell?), and then he jerked his head up a little, indicating the apartment behind me. Mozhe li , he said, may I, and I drew back from the entrance and motioned him in, saying Yes, of course, zapovyadaite , come in. I realized too late that I had used the polite form of the verb, so that my invitation at once welcomed him and held him off. He stepped forward, only now reaching out his hand, and his grip was as I remembered it, strong and cordial, though he didn’t meet my eye with the eager and disarming look I remembered from our first meeting. He looked down at our hands instead, his brown against mine, the ends of his fingers broad and blunt, almost square, and then he bent to unlace his shoes and I took in his smell, wet and unwashed and stinking of alcohol. I followed him into the room, where nothing had changed, the bare table was still by the window, the shabby sofa along the wall, with a street map of Sofia pinned above it. When he glanced at the stove he said I’m sorry, you were having dinner, I’m interrupting, and I looked at him curiously, surprised by a brittle formality I had never seen in him before. What did he think I was feeling, I wondered, that would be pleased or appeased by this; or maybe it was something else, an attempt at dignity, at shoring himself up against whatever had worn him so roughly and brought him finally to my door. He stood in the center of the room with his arms crossed, his hands clamped beneath them, and he was swaying back and forth, whether out of nervousness or a need for warmth I wasn’t sure. I haven’t seen you for a long time, I said finally, lamely, how are you, and at this he did look up, but briefly and without fully lifting his head, so that it was as if from below that he met my eyes. I’m not good, he said, and then more firmly, I’m bad, I need to talk to you, I’ve come to tell you something.

• From What Belongs to You (2016)

  That’s serious, I said, I’m sorry, and he shook his head in agreement. Then he looked at me. Have you had any problems, he asked, anything like this? Me, I said, taken aback, of course not, no, nothing at all. At the clinic, he went on, they said I’ve had it for a long time, that’s what I came to tell you. You need to get checked, he said, and I nodded in consent. All right, I said, I will. I wasn’t very worried: it had been two years, and I hadn’t noticed anything to cause alarm, certainly nothing so dramatic as Mitko’s own symptoms. But it was also true that I hadn’t been tested for anything in years. The terror I had felt constantly when I was younger had given way to something like carelessness, which I knew was irresponsible, though I mostly took the usual precautions, and anyway it was an easy enough thought to avoid. Lots of guys wouldn’t have told you, Mitko said again, they would have said what do I owe him, he can fuck himself. But I’m not like that, he went on, and you’re my friend. I’ve never stopped thinking of you as my friend, he said, shifting the pitch of the conversation just slightly, making it more intimate. This too was a different tone, one I hadn’t heard from him before, retrospective, almost regretful, though I didn’t really trust it, I doubted it was his conscience alone that had brought him back to me. Are you sorry, he said then, deepening this tone still further, are you sorry that you came to Varna that time? I didn’t answer at first, remembering how frightened I had been that night, and thinking too of the whole false history between us, falser now that I’ve turned it over so often. No, I said, I don’t regret it, and as I said it it was true. And you, I said, and he drew his head up in a single quick jerk, not quite a nod, Ne, ne suzhalyavam. For the first time since he had arrived he smiled, not the eager smile I remembered from before but something that lightened the mood. Radvam se , he said, I’m glad you’re not sorry, and then he placed his hand on my knee, not meaning it as a seduction exactly, the fact of his illness dismissed any thought of it, but as a reestablishment of contact, I thought, a suggestion that at some point we might begin again what we had halted.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  AUGUSTINE. (Tract. xxix. 2) All, it would appear, admired, but all were not converted. Whence then the admiration? Many knew where He was born, and how He had been educated; but had never seen Him learning letters. Yet now they heard Him disputing on the law, and bringing forward its testimonies. No one could do this, who had not read the law; no one could read who had not learnt letters; and this raised their wonder. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xlix. 1) Their wonder might have led them to infer, that our Lord became possessed of this learning in some divine way, and not by any human process. But they would not acknowledge this, and contented themselves with wondering. So our Lord repeated it to them: Jesus answered them and said, My doctrine is not Mine, but His that sent Me. AUGUSTINE. (Tract. xxix. s. 3) Mine is not mine, appears a contradiction; why did He not say, This doctrine is not Mine? Because the doctrine of the Father being the Word of the Father, and Christ Himself being that Word, Christ Himself is the doctrine of the Father. And therefore He calls the doctrine both His own, and the Father’s. A word must be a word of some one’s. What is so much Thine as Thou, and what is so much not Thine as Thou, if what Thou art, Thou art of another. His saying then, My doctrine is not Mine own, seems briefly to express the truth, that He is not from Himself; it refutes the Sabellian heresy, which dares to assert that the Son is the same as the Father, there being only two names for one thing. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xlix. 2) Or He calls it His own, inasmuch as He taught it; not His own, inasmuch as the doctrine was of the Father. If all things however which the Father hath are His, the doctrine for this very reason is His; i. e. because it is the Father’s. Rather that He says, Is not Mine own, shews very strongly, that His doctrine and the Father’s are one: as if He said, I differ nothing from Him; but so act, that it may be thought I say and do nothing else than doth the Father. AUGUSTINE. (de Trin. i. c. xi) Or thus: In one sense He calls it His, in another sense not His; according to the form of the Godhead His, according to the form of the servant not His.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  The wealthy landowner (" There was a day when I could have had you shot!") looks on in CHAPTER TWO 5 19 disbelief, and we leave him weeping, possibly because his day has passed. End of joke. Then, there is the scene with the lady who deals in abor tions. I have described this lady somewhat rudely; she may have passed through the West Indies, or Africa, and, at that, speedily; but she surely do not come from around here. She appears to be looking for a home, and, from the way Virgil Tibbs treats her, no wonder-I would, too. Demandi ng to know who, in the town, is paying for an abortion, he informs her (speaking of the prison sentence with which he is threat ening her) that "there's white time and black time-and ain't nothing worse than black time!" The lady who deals in abor tions appears to be utterly astounded and downcast by this news and rolls her eyes toward (I suppose) her suitcase. But she is saved by the arrival of the exhibitionistic girl: who, see ing Virgil Tibbs (they have met before), runs out into the night. Virgil runs after her (while the lady who deals in abortions flees into the back room, to pack, and book passage to Can ada, or Algeria) and picks up the fleeing poor white chick in his arms. In this unlucky posture he is found as headlights flash, before, and behind, and all around him, and white men leap out of their cars: into the heat of the night. This is the penu ltimate, exciting scene. One of the white men is the poor white brother of the poor white girl, and, naturally, he intends to lynch the nigger, whose black hands are still on the body of his white sister. With great presence of mind, Mr. Tibbs drops the sister and points to the real killer, who has the money for the abortion in his pocket. The attention of the murderous mob is thus distracted, naturally, from the nigger and the white chick to this creep, who promptly shoots the brother, dead: end of exciting scene. There remains the obli gatory, fade-out kiss.

• From Wild (2012)

  “Hello!” she half screamed while we grabbed each other. “I knew you’d be here right about now,” she said once we’d recovered from the shock. “We decided to drive up and see.” She turned to her boyfriend, Jason, and I shook his hand—I’d met him briefly in the days before I’d left Portland for the PCT, when they’d first begun dating. It felt surreal to see people I knew from my old familiar world and a bit sad too. I was both happy and disappointed to see them: their presence seemed to hasten the end of my trip, underlining the fact that though it would take me a week to get there, Portland was only ninety miles away by car. By evening we all piled into Jason’s pickup truck and drove along the winding forest roads to Bagby Hot Springs. Bagby is a version of paradise in the woods: a trilevel series of wooden decks that hold tubs of various configurations on a steaming hot creek a mile-and-a-half walk back from a roadside parking area in the Mount Hood National Forest. It’s not a business or a resort or a retreat center. It’s just a place anyone can go for no charge at any hour of the day or night to soak in the natural waters beneath an ancient canopy of Douglas firs, hemlocks, and cedars. Its existence seemed more surreal to me than Lisa standing in the Olallie Lake store. We practically had the place to ourselves. The Three Young Bucks and I walked to the lower deck, where there were long hand-hewn tubs as big as canoes made from hollowed-out cedars beneath a high airy wooden ceiling. We undressed as the rain fell gently down on the lush branches of the big trees that surrounded us, my eyes skating over their naked bodies in the half light. Rick and I got into neighboring tubs and turned on the spigots, moaning as the hot, mineral-rich water rose around us. I remembered my bath in that hotel in Sierra City before I hiked up into the snow. It seemed fitting that I was here now, with only a week left to go, like I’d survived a hard and beautiful dream. I’d ridden up front with Lisa and Jason on the drive to Bagby, but on the return trip to Olallie Lake, I climbed in back with the Three Young Bucks, feeling clean and warm and blissed out as I clambered onto the futon that covered the truck’s bed. “That futon is yours, by the way,” said Lisa, before she closed the camper hatch behind us. “I took it out of your truck and put it in here in case we decided to spend the night.”

• From Wild (2012)

  Late in the afternoon, I stopped for a break in a spot on the trail with a view over the rolling green land. I was on a slope, the mountain rising above me and descending steeply below. With no other place to sit, I sat on the trail itself, as I often did. I pulled off my boots and socks and massaged my feet as I stared out across the tops of the trees, my perch on the trail essentially a ledge over the forest. I loved the sensation of feeling taller than the trees, of seeing their canopy from above, as a bird would. The sight of it eased my sense of worry over the state of my feet and the rough trail ahead. It was in this reverie that I reached for the side pocket of my pack. When I pulled on the pocket’s zipper, Monster toppled over onto my boots, clipping the left one in such a way that it leapt into the air as if I’d thrown it. I watched it bounce—it was lightning fast and in slow motion all at once—and then I watched it tumble over the edge of the mountain and down into the trees without a sound. I gasped in surprise and lurched for my other boot, clutching it to my chest, waiting for the moment to reverse itself, for someone to come laughing from the woods, shaking his head and saying it had all been a joke. But no one laughed. No one would. The universe, I’d learned, was never, ever kidding. It would take whatever it wanted and it would never give it back. I really did have only one boot. So I stood up and tossed the other one over the edge too. I looked down at my bare feet, staring at them for a long moment, then began repairing my sandals with duct tape as best I could, sealing the bottoms back together and reinforcing the straps where they threatened to detach. I wore my socks inside the sandals to protect my feet from the lines of tape and hiked away feeling sick about the new state of affairs, but reassuring myself that at least I had a new pair of boots waiting for me in Castle Crags.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  BEDE. How typically the leprous man represents the whole race of man, languishing with sins full of leprosy, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; (Rom. 3:23.) that so by the hand put forth, i. e. the word of God partaking of human nature, they might be cleansed from the vanity of their old errors, and offer for cleansing their bodies as a living sacrifice. AMBROSE. But if the word is the healing of leprosy, the contempt of the word is the leprosy of the mind. THEOPHYLACT. But mark, that after a man has been cleansed he is then worthy to offer this gift, namely, the body and blood of the Lord, which is united to the Divine nature. 5:17–2617. And it came to pass on a certain day, as he was teaching, that there were Pharisees and doctors of the law sitting by, which were come out of every town of Galilee, and Judæa, and Jerusalem: and the power of the Lord was present to heal them. 18. And, behold, men brought in a bed a man which was taken with a palsy: and they sought means to bring him in, and to lay him before him. 19. And when they could not find by what way they might bring him in because of the multitude, they went upon the housetop, and let him down through the tiling with his couch into the midst before Jesus. 20. And when he saw their faith, he said unto him, Man, thy sins are forgiven thee. 21. And the Scribes and the Pharisees began to reason, saying, Who is this which speaketh blasphemies? Who can forgive sins, but God alone? 22. But when Jesus perceived their thoughts, he answering said unto them, What reason ye in your hearts? 23. Whether is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Rise up and walk? 24. But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power upon earth to forgive sins, (he said unto the sick of the palsy,) I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy couch, and go unto thine house. 25. And immediately he rose up before them, and took up that whereon he lay, and departed to his own house, glorifying God. 26. And they were all amazed, and they glorified God, and were filled with fear, saying, We have seen strange things to day.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Too much money. I wanted to stay on at Oxford, but I didn’t get a First, though I was supposed to. I did work for a publisher for two years, but then I got out.’ ‘I mean, if you want a job I’ll get you one,’ Nantwich interrupted. ‘You’re very kind … I suppose I should do something soon. My father thought he could get me a job in the City, but I couldn’t face the idea of it, I’m afraid.’ ‘Your father?’ ‘Yes, he’s chairman of, oh … a group of companies.’ ‘Your money comes from him, then?’ ‘No, as it happens, it’s all from my grandfather. He’s very well off, as you can imagine. He’s settling his estate on my sister and me. We get it all in advance to avoid death duties.’ ‘Capital,’ said Nantwich; ‘as it were.’ He munched on for a bit. ‘But tell me, who is your grandfather?’ I had been supposing, somehow, that he knew, and I took a second to rethink everything in the light of the recognition that he didn’t. ‘Oh—er, Denis—Beckwith,’ I then hastened to explain. Again the sudden emission of interest. ‘My dear charming boy, do you mean to say that you are Denis Beckwith’s grandson?’ ‘I’m sorry, I thought you knew.’ Often the intelligence met with a less enthusiastic reception. Then Nantwich’s interest had gone. ‘I suppose you come across each other in the House of Lords,’ I ventured. He had half turned and stared out of the window. When he swung back he leaned close to me and I smelt the pork in his mouth as he said: ‘That chap is a very interesting photographer, indeed.’ ‘Really? I don’t think …’ Then I saw that it was one of his conversational hairpins. I followed his glance across the room to where a dapper man, with crisp gold hair going grey, was sitting at the central table. Nantwich made a kind of diving or salaaming motion with his hands, and the man nodded and smiled. ‘Ronald Staines, you must know his stuff, of course.’ ‘I’m not sure that I do.’ I was sure he must be a dreadful photographer. ‘What sort of thing does he specialise in?’ ‘Oh, very special. You must meet, you’d love him,’ said Nantwich recklessly. I suffered a twinge of the mildly oppressive sensation one gets when one realises that the person one is talking to has plans. ‘Actually, there are lots of people, not yet dead, that I’d like you to meet. All my society is pretty bloody interesting. Falling to bits, of course, ga-ga as often as not, and a coachload of absolute Mary-Anns, I won’t deny it. But you young people know less and less of the old, they of you too, of course. I like young people around: you’re a bonny lot, you’re so heartless but you do me good.’

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  PSEUDO-AUGUSTINE. (Aug. in Serm. de Annunt. iii. app. 195.) More than with me, for He Himself is in thy heart, He is (made) in thy womb, He fills thy soul, He fills thy womb. GREEK EXPOSITOR. (Geometer) But this is the sum of the whole message. The Word of God, as the Bridegroom, effecting an incomprehensible union, Himself, as it were, the same both planting, and being planted, hath moulded the whole nature of man into Himself. But comes last the most perfect and comprehensive salutation; Blessed art thou among women. i. e. Alone, far before all other women; that women also should be blessed in thee, as men are in thy Son; but rather both in both. For as by one man and one woman came at once both sin and sorrow, so now also by one woman and one man hath both blessing and joy been restored, and poured forth upon all. AMBROSE. But mark the Virgin by her bashfulness, for she was afraid, as it follows; And when she heard, she was troubled, It is the habit of virgins to tremble, and to be ever afraid at the presence of man, and to be shy when he addresses her. Learn, O virgin, to avoid light talking. Mary feared even the salutation of an angel. GREEK EXPOSITOR. (sup.) But as she might be accustomed to these visions, the Evangelist ascribes her agitation not to the vision, but to the things told her, saying, she was troubled at his words. Now observe both the modesty and wisdom of the Virgin; the soul, and at the same time the voice. When she heard the joyful words, she pondered them in her mind, and neither openly resisted through unbelief, nor forthwith lightly complied; avoiding equally the inconstancy of Eve, and the insensibility of Zacharias. Hence it is said, And she cast in her mind what manner of salutation this was, it is not said conception, for as yet she knew not the vastness of the mystery. But the salutation, was there aught of passion in it as from a man to a virgin? or was it not of God, seeing that he makes mention of God, saying, The Lord is with thee. AMBROSE. She wondered also at the new form of blessing, unheard of before, reserved for Mary alone. ORIGEN. For if Mary had known that similar words had been addressed to others, such a salutation would never have appeared to her so strange and alarming. 1:30–3330. And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. 31. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS. 32. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David:

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  “What?” she whispered back. “The kiss,” he explained. “Where would you like me to do it?” She stared at him in shock. Images that made her dizzy entered her brain, but she instantly forced them out of her consciousness. And yet she was trembling. She once again reminded herself that the wisest course would be to get this over with quickly. And just how was she supposed to answer his question without sounding like she wanted him to kiss her? He really had an infuriating way of setting her up. What she would really like to do is—Suddenly she had an idea. “I think the least-offensive place would be my foot,” she said at last, with an eager smile. “Your foot it is,” he replied without disappointment. He had expected no less of her. Besides, his suggestive question had had the desired effect. He had noticed her loss of composure, if only for a few moments. He went down on one knee before her in a deceivingly submissive gesture. As she prepared for her attack, Mouse felt a peculiar disappointment that he had allowed himself to be beaten so easily, and a strange regret that it would all soon be over. It occurred to her that, from somewhere within herself, she had hoped he would be smarter or stronger or something…but immediately she reproached herself for being so foolish, remembering that it was her pride and her freedom that were on the line here. Cat gently picked up her foot and placed his warm mouth on it for a lingering kiss. Immediately after the kiss was concluded, Mouse yanked back her foot in a swift motion, with the intention of kicking Cat in the face—an act that would once and for all show him her utter self-possession and lack of response to him. But as she swung her foot forward to deliver the blow, his hand flew out with razor-sharp precision and caught her ankle, holding it in a grip of steel. She gasped at this unexpected turn of events. The strength she felt in the grasp he maintained on her leg sent a thrill through her. She tried to shake him off but he held her with as little trouble as she might have had holding a butterfly by the wing. All at once she was completely disarmed. Suddenly she lost her footing, balancing and struggling on the one foot as she had been. With arms and legs akimbo, she fell, bottom first to the floor. With the swiftness of a panther, Cat reached out and caught her, breaking her fall with his hands. She was at first relieved and then horrified. His hands cupped her buttocks. She moved to get up, but he held her. “We haven’t determined the effect of the kiss yet,” he said with smile. “What do you mean?” she asked, still struggling to get up and away from his hands.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  As they slept on this wise, without awaking, the day came on and Messer Lizio arose and remembering him that his daughter lay in the gallery, opened the door softly, saying in himself, 'Let us see how the nightingale hath made Caterina sleep this night.' Then, going in, he softly lifted up the serge, wherewith the bed was curtained about, and saw his daughter and Ricciardo lying asleep, naked and uncovered, embraced as it hath before been set out; whereupon, having recognized Ricciardo, he went out again and repairing to his wife's chamber, called to her, saying, 'Quick, wife, get thee up and come see, for that thy daughter hath been so curious of the nightingale that she hath e'en taken it and hath it in hand.' 'How can that be?' quoth she; and he answered, 'Thou shalt see it, an thou come quickly.' Accordingly, she made haste to dress herself and quietly followed her husband to the bed, where, the curtain being drawn, Madam Giacomina might plainly see how her daughter had taken and held the nightingale, which she had so longed to hear sing; whereat the lady, holding herself sore deceived of Ricciardo, would have cried out and railed at him; but Messer Lizio said to her, 'Wife, as thou holdest my love dear, look thou say not a word, for, verily, since she hath gotten it, it shall be hers. Ricciardo is young and rich and gently born; he cannot make us other than a good son-in-law. An he would part from me on good terms, needs must he first marry her, so it will be found that he hath put the nightingale in his own cage and not in that of another.'

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  Ronald Watson Lafferty, 42, no address available, was charged with two counts of capital homicide in the deaths of Brenda Wright Lafferty, 24, and her daughter, Erica Lane. . . . American Fork police have not established a motive for the killings and have refused to comment on rumors that the suspect, an excommunicated member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was involved with either polygamist or fundamentalist religious sects and that those ties may have contributed to the killings. . . . Neighbors expressed disbelief that “this sort of thing” could happen in their area. “The whole town’s in shock that such a thing could happen in a nice quiet community like American Fork. People who said they had never locked their doors said they were going to now,” said one neighbor who asked not to be identified. Ken Beck, a bishop in the American Fork LDS ward which Allen and Brenda Lafferty attended, said they were “a nice ordinary couple,” active in church affairs. Immediately below this story, also on the front page, was an accompanying piece: NEIGHBORS RECALL CHANGES IN MURDER SUSPECT, 42 Special to The Tribune AMERICAN FORK —A determined man who evolved from an active Mormon and conservative Republican to a strict constitutionalist and excommunicated fundamentalist is how neighbors remember Ronald Watson Lafferty. . . . Mr. Lafferty served on Highland’s first City Council when the small northern Utah County town was incorporated in 1977. At the time, Mr. Lafferty successfully led a drive to outlaw beer sales in the town’s only grocery store—where travelers to American Fork Canyon still can’t buy beer. “Two years ago, he looked clean, all-American, even in the mornings after milking the family cow,” said a neighbor who resides in an acre-lot subdivision filled with children, horses, goats, chickens and large garden plots where Mr. Lafferty once lived. Last year he and his wife of several years divorced. Mr. Lafferty has not been seen in the neighborhood for a year. Shortly after Christmas, Mrs. Diana Lafferty, described as “a pillar of the Mormon ward,” took the couple’s six children out of state. Neighbors said the divorce stemmed from differences of opinion on religion and politics. “He talked about standing up for what was right—no matter the consequences,” said a neighbor. Friends said Mr. Lafferty’s political beliefs changed as well—or perhaps evolved—from conservative Republican to strict fundamentalism. During the 12 years he lived in Highland, he came to believe in a return to the gold standard, strict constitutionalism and obedience only to “righteous laws,” said a neighbor. “He had a fervent desire to save the Constitution—and the country,” said a long-time friend. “It became a religious obsession.” Detectives interviewed as many of Allen’s siblings as they could locate, as well as his mother and various friends. As the front page of Saturday’s Tribune revealed, the cops were beginning to piece together a motive for the brutal acts: TWO MURDERS A RELIGIOUS REVELATION?

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Now it chanced that Isabetta, suspecting nothing of this nor being on her guard, caused her lover come thither one night, which was forthright known to those who were on the watch for this and who, whenas it seemed to them time, a good part of the night being spent, divided themselves into two parties, whereof one abode on guard at the door of her cell, whilst the other ran to the abbess's chamber and knocking at the door, till she answered, said to her, 'Up, madam; arise quickly, for we have discovered that Isabetta hath a young man in her cell.' Now the abbess was that night in company with a priest, whom she ofttimes let come to her in a chest; but, hearing the nuns' outcry and fearing lest, of their overhaste and eagerness, they should push open the door, she hurriedly arose and dressed herself as best she might in the dark. Thinking to take certain plaited veils, which nuns wear on their heads and call a psalter, she caught up by chance the priest's breeches, and such was her haste that, without remarking what she did, she threw them over her head, in lieu of the psalter, and going forth, hurriedly locked the door after her, saying, 'Where is this accursed one of God?' Then, in company with the others, who were so ardent and so intent upon having Isabetta taken in default that they noted not that which the abbess had on her head, she came to the cell-door and breaking it open, with the aid of the others, entered and found the two lovers abed in each other's arms, who, all confounded at such a surprise, abode fast, unknowing what to do.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  And this court, in a ruling that shocked most of Utah, tossed out Ron’s 1985 convictions. In vacating the findings of the state trial court, the Tenth Circuit declared that the lower court had bungled things right out of the gate by applying a faulty legal standard when it determined that Ron had been mentally competent to stand trial. Although the judges of the Tenth Circuit agreed that Ron understood the charges against him and their possible consequences, they concluded that “he was unable as a result of his paranoid delusional system to interpret them in a realistic way.” The bench was troubled by Ron’s belief that because he answered to the laws of God, he need not answer to the laws of man. They thought this was a pretty clear indication that the guy was not in his right mind. If the state of Utah wanted to keep him locked up, the judges announced, it was going to have to try him again, from scratch, after first redetermining whether he was crazy or sane according to accepted legal criteria. The Tenth Circuit’s ruling had a profound effect on Ron Lafferty and the families of his victims, obviously, but it potentially had even greater ramifications for the manner in which American courts would deal thereafter with violent crimes inspired by religious belief. As Utah Solicitor General Jan Graham explained, “We are concerned about what this decision means not only for the Lafferty case but for other cases.” She warned that it might set a precedent that would “immunize” religious fanatics from criminal prosecution. Theologians mulled other potential consequences of the Tenth Circuit’s ruling, as well. As Peggy Fletcher Stack, a highly regarded religion writer for the Salt Lake Tribune, pointed out, “Saying that anyone who talks to God is crazy has enormous implications for the whole world of religion. It imposes a secular view of sanity and means that all religions are insane.” This issue was especially germane for Latter-day Saints, given the unusual importance Mormons have always placed on communicating directly with the Almighty. Their entire faith is based on talking to God. The state of Utah was not happy about having to toss out Ron Lafferty’s conviction and give him a new trial, but it complied with the Tenth Circuit Court’s edict—the first phase of which entailed rigorously reassessing Ron’s mental competency. The upshot was a hearing in late 1992 wherein a trio of doctors, after examining Ron, convinced the Fourth District Court in Provo that he was not fit to stand trial. Having been found incompetent, Ron was transferred from death row at Point of the Mountain to the Utah State Hospital, but the state had no intention of abandoning its efforts to convict and execute him for murder. Following sixteen months of psychotherapy, which included putting Ron on a course of antidepressant and antipsychotic medications, another competency hearing was held in February 1994.

• From Wild (2012)

  By the time I was sated, it was dark and the full moon was rising. I couldn’t muster the energy to set up my tent—a task that required little more than two minutes’ effort, which now seemed Herculean to me. I didn’t need a tent. It hadn’t rained since my first couple of days on the trail. I put my clothes back on and spread out my sleeping bag on the tarp, but it was too hot still to do anything but lie on top of it. I was too tired to read. Even gazing at the moon felt like a mild effort. I’d consumed 128 ounces of questionable reservoir water since I’d arrived a couple of hours before and I still didn’t have to pee. I had done a stupendously dumb thing by setting out across Hat Creek Rim with so little water. I’ll never be so careless again, I promised the moon before falling asleep. I woke two hours later with the vaguely pleasant sensation that tiny cool hands were gently patting me. They were on my bare legs and arms and face and in my hair, on my feet and throat and hands. I could feel their cool weight through my T-shirt on my chest and belly. “Hmm,” I moaned, turning slightly before I opened my eyes and a series of facts came to me in slow motion. There was the fact of the moon and the fact that I was sleeping out in the open on my tarp. There was the fact that I had woken because it seemed like small cool hands were gently patting me and the fact that small cool hands were gently patting me. And then there was the final fact of all, which was a fact more monumental than even the moon: the fact that those small cool hands were not hands, but hundreds of small cool black frogs. Small cool slimy black frogs jumping all over me.O Each one was the approximate size of a potato chip. They were an amphibious army, a damp smooth-skinned militia, a great web-footed migration, and I was in their path as they hopped, scrambled, leapt, and hurled their tiny, pudgy, bent-legged bodies from the reservoir and onto the scrim of dirt that they no doubt considered their private beach.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  […] One night, as the great North Wind came whistling through the woods, shaking the tiny cabin where they lived, an enormous white bear suddenly appeared at their door. “Good evening,” said the bear. “Good evening,” replied the man. Though he had not encountered a talking bear before, it was well-known in those parts that animals who spoke were enchanted. […] “I have come for your firstborn daughter,” the bear announced without preamble. “If she will come away with me, she will have everything she wishes for, and, what’s more, I will make you and the rest of your family as rich as you are now poor.”

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  “What?” she whispered back. “The kiss,” he explained. “Where would you like me to do it?” She stared at him in shock. Images that made her dizzy entered her brain, but she instantly forced them out of her consciousness. And yet she was trembling. She once again reminded herself that the wisest course would be to get this over with quickly. And just how was she supposed to answer his question without sounding like she wanted him to kiss her? He really had an infuriating way of setting her up. What she would really like to do is—Suddenly she had an idea. “I think the least-offensive place would be my foot,” she said at last, with an eager smile. “Your foot it is,” he replied without disappointment. He had expected no less of her. Besides, his suggestive question had had the desired effect. He had noticed her loss of composure, if only for a few moments. He went down on one knee before her in a deceivingly submissive gesture. As she prepared for her attack, Mouse felt a peculiar disappointment that he had allowed himself to be beaten so easily, and a strange regret that it would all soon be over. It occurred to her that, from somewhere within herself, she had hoped he would be smarter or stronger or something…but immediately she reproached herself for being so foolish, remembering that it was her pride and her freedom that were on the line here. Cat gently picked up her foot and placed his warm mouth on it for a lingering kiss. Immediately after the kiss was concluded, Mouse yanked back her foot in a swift motion, with the intention of kicking Cat in the face—an act that would once and for all show him her utter self-possession and lack of response to him. But as she swung her foot forward to deliver the blow, his hand flew out with razor-sharp precision and caught her ankle, holding it in a grip of steel. She gasped at this unexpected turn of events. The strength she felt in the grasp he maintained on her leg sent a thrill through her. She tried to shake him off but he held her with as little trouble as she might have had holding a butterfly by the wing. All at once she was completely disarmed. Suddenly she lost her footing, balancing and struggling on the one foot as she had been. With arms and legs akimbo, she fell, bottom first to the floor. With the swiftness of a panther, Cat reached out and caught her, breaking her fall with his hands. She was at first relieved and then horrified. His hands cupped her buttocks. She moved to get up, but he held her. “We haven’t determined the effect of the kiss yet,” he said with smile. “What do you mean?” she asked, still struggling to get up and away from his hands.

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  This belief is not restricted to one small organized group like the Call of God. But the leader of Call of God had routinely condemned any church or religious organization outside his group as lost and without salvation. Making such distinctions is important, because most, if not all, Bible-based cults that claim to be Christian are intolerant and condemning in regard to other Christians if they insist that salvation is essentially bestowed through them exclusively and achieved only by rigid compliance to the dictates and teachings of their leaders. I then linked this understanding to the documentaries about the Waco Davidians and Jonestown and pointed out that both groups shared such beliefs about the exclusivity of their respective groups and the unique authority of their leaders. On the third day we specifically discussed in some detail the apparent lack of accountability and financial transparency concerning the leader of the Call of God. How was he accountable? Was there an elected board? Had he been elected? Who had appointed him? Where did the money go? How could that money trail be confirmed? Did anyone other than the leader actually know? We discussed that members of the group were expected to tithe and actively engage in fund-raising activities. Some had quit jobs, surrendered significant assets, and made personal sacrifices to support the group. Where did the money and assets go? Was there a published budget? Was there an annual audit? At this juncture we reviewed the gathered documentation the young woman’s father had assembled. These documents, including real estate and corporate disclosure records, which disclosed in some detail the leader’s actual assets and most recently declared income. All his disclosed assets were held personally, and no assets could be found specifically titled to the group or a charitable organization. This information directly contradicted what the leader had been telling the group, which was that he had no interest in business or money; nor was he motivated, he said, by any hope for material gain. This discussion about the discrepancy between what the leader said and what the public records demonstrated, seemed to strike home with the young woman. Cracking the Program Ted Patrick once said, “When I hit on that one certain point that strikes home, I push it. I stay with that question whether it’s about God, the Devil or that person’s having rejected his parents. I keep pushing and pushing. I don’t let him get around it with the lies he’s been told.” 777 The fact that the leader of the group had accumulated substantial assets while simultaneously misleading others about his finances resonated with the young woman and became a point I began to push harder, reviewing document after document to further crack the group programming. Authors Conway and Siegelman summarized Patrick’s earlier approach by saying that once he found such a weakness in the cult program, he “hit it head on, until the entire programmed state of mind gave way.”