The same drab grayness hints of nothing on the horizon. Ancient trees once lined the scarred road, but are gone now and have not been replaced. Their ugly stumps welcome me home and give me the feeling in my gut that a man must have on learning that his life-saving operation has just failed.
On the crest of the hill stands a monument to the eternally saved. The twisted cross of the Mormon Church is raised high against the dark cloud, its brutish shapes contorting in a cruel mirror to Christ's suffering. Squatting behind this, as if ashamed, is the orange brick of the Church itself. Nobody thought to uproot this since I left.
The healthy looking, pinstriped men tried to convert me before I went away:
"Son, have you ever thought about a place of everlasting peace and happiness? Have you accepted the Lord into your heart? Why choose a path of sin and suffering when you could dedicate your life to the work of Christ?"
Further down into the Glen I pass the stinking river and cut up through the rubbish tip. I stop and have a seat at the foot of a mountain of rusted bathtubs, amongst scorched cars, demented looking broken beds and other remnants of the villagers lives. One of the wild cats of the dump scratches the hand that I offer it and scrambles away though the rust and dirt.
Once, when I was young, a heap of old car tyres caught fire up here and stinking rubber blew across the rooftops of the village. Flames shot up high into the early evening air. In the opposite direction, fighting the wind, the war-like sirens of the Borstal fought through the smoke. A jail-break from the Young Offenders Institute. Soon all the pavements lay barren except for the colourfully painted numbers and abandoned bikes.
The old iron gates at the top of the dump hang together meekly, only just guarding the decaying treasure inside. I cross the road and through the trees I can see the first of the gray, raw-boned buildings hunkered down on the hillside.
I remember something from television years earlier. In America the Mormon's have a huge database of names from all around the world. People are added to the list every day, whether they are newborn babies or are long dead war criminals. If you're on the roll call then you’re going to Heaven whether you believe in Jesus or plain hate his guts. And sooner or later, everyone will be on the database.
I laugh the same hollow sentiment that I laughed at the pinstriped men. Nothing has changed; I'm still going to Mormon Heaven despite the changes inside me.
