We are on the hunt for Utter Goodness. UG. On the prowl. Our shoulders are getting more pin-pricked with freckles. Junie says that it’s because we’re on the hunt during Peak Tanning Hours (PTH). In the mornings after prayer hour, we load up in the kei truck imported across the Pacific from Kyoto and drive to where we are supposed to go.
A year ago, the kei truck went viral. There was a hot day last July. Everyone on the ranch sat around the kei truck and wrote a passage of the Doctrine in our handwriting. Seventy-seven in all, and we wrote it in blue paint in our handwriting on the kei truck. Neutral blue. Computer error blue. The paint was stubborn about getting out of my hair afterward, and the next morning before prayer I asked Junie to take the kitchen scissors to it when she was done cutting chuck beef for breakfast. Dali posted the finished truck to Instagram and by the time my thin, blonde locks clumped with dried blue were scattered on the bathroom floor, singed with tallow, the Mormon temple that bordered the ranch publicly announced that they would build a wall between us. A three-by-four-inch spot in the New York Post was mostly filled with the words “Kei Truck Cult” and a photo of the truck. Dr. Bronner’s Soap said we were copying them but they never sent a cease and desist. Someone on Twitter said the United States needed to instate tariffs on kei trucks.
We load up the truck. Printed Doctrines in cardboard boxes. Tallow canned in jars, full of Utter Goodness. Our duffel bags. Junie checks us out of the Motel 6 just in time. We woke up late and barely fucked and showered and ate and finished prayer hour before check-out. “Hot,” she says. She pulls at the back of her white cotton dress. The angel wings tattooed on her shoulder blades are visible through the wet, sweaty fabric. “Too hot, now.”
Things change, I sigh. I put the truck in reverse and pull out of the parking lot.
We rumble past. There’s a Twenty-Four Hour Sonic Drive-In. There’s a Home Depot. There’s the sign to Main Street Of Twin Falls, Idaho. There are three lanes in and out of I-86 and we are going Out, East on 86. Lulling mountains rise around the interstate, duller than the cragged ranges in Utah. Junie says the sky is just as wide, but the hills are much more humble. The mountains are patched with brown grass desperately vying for the sun. The sun is trying to prove itself through the pillow of wildfire smoke coming down on the winds from Alberta. One bright freckle in the endless whiteness.
Ash smacks the windshield like defective angels falling. Junie plugs her phone into the AUX cord that I jury-rigged into the kei truck and hits play.
So help me God.
This audio transcription of the Doctrine of the Apostolic Zionologists is read by the Prophet Dali John. Copyright the Apostolic Brethren of Zionology, Incorporated, 1999. This audio is not to be shared or reproduced without explicit written permission from the Apostolic Brethren of Zionology. Requests may be submitted to the Apostolic Zionologists by sending a self-addressed and stamped envelope to P.O. Box 7712, Halleck, Nevada 89801. This recording is now on all mainstream streaming services like Spotify, Apple Music, and Soundcloud, and available as a free download on our website at www.apostolicbretherenofzionology.org/doctrine.
One.
There has never been a best of times. There is no such thing as civilization.
Mankind has proven himself the children of Judas, and no quantity nor quality of government nor academic institutions that set forth the law and ways of the land can qualify us as civilized creatures. For in horrible strife, man, without fail, will cast off the chains of civilization and return to evil. We see this: the Holocaust, in communism, in war, in genocide, in rebellion against these institutions.
Man will, without fail, reject civilized behavior and return to his human instincts of sin. Law and order are but a poorly stuck bandage to pretend that we are not wounded by the sin we cause ourselves.
The only solution to rejecting our inherent evil is to submit to God. But to commit to ultimate spiritual submission, one must not just repent. One cannot confess his sins, because his sins are mortal actions. To submit fully and reject the truth of mankind’s evil is to transcend beyond the confines of human consciousness through the practice of Utter Goodness.
Utter Goodness. Summa Bonitas. Let Me Be The God I Seek.
Junie’s eyes are closed. Her chapped lips softly murmur. Let me be the God I seek.
The kei truck’s engine whirrs like a blender. UTTER GOODNESS is painted in Dali’s handwriting on the hood and I can read it upside-down.
Junie sighs sweetly. “I feel so bad, Jeb.”
“Why?”
“What we did this morning. We can’t keep doing that”.
“What?” I grin at her. “Prayer hour?” And she smacks me foolish and I laugh, flinching away from her in the passenger side seat.
“You know what I’m fucking talking about.”
“Fucking?”
She smacks me again and this time I shout at her to stop fucking doing that because I’m veering into the left-hand lane.
Junie settles down and shakes her head so the ends of her straw hair graze her shoulders. “You know it’s sinful. It’s pleasure without discipline. Lust. It’s literally written on the wall.”
In the chapel on the ranch, the seven sins are carved by chisel into the rafters reaching over the pews. Pride. Greed. Wrath. Envy. Lust. Gluttony. Sloth. They’re in big capital blue letters along the truck bed on the driver’s side.
“It’s all for fun,” I tell her. “A couple of times, June Bug. Not a big deal.”
I turn to her. She stares at the glove compartment but she won’t look at me. The truck is tensely silent.
Two.
Utter Goodness. What is it? Utter Goodness is the ultimate adherence to God’s actions. Man must honor God by acting in His Way. Man must not just follow God’s word, but imitate God himself.
Utter Goodness, however, does not mean reflecting His power. For we, mankind, are mortal individuals. We cannot be Gods on Earth. We can only strive to follow God’s action as closely and as exactly as is described in the Bible and this Doctrine, as described by God to the Prophet Dali John. Without this closeness and exactness to God’s ways, man will never reach eternity in Heaven, where he can join God as an eternal being. The Prophet will tell exactly what God told him in the fourth part of the Doctrine.
It is better to introduce Utter Goodness by what it is not than what it is. For there are ways that God can never follow, and thus man must not. These are the seven sins. Pride. Greed. Wrath. Envy. Lust. Gluttony. Sloth. Committing any of the seven sins without repentance will void a man from eternity in Heaven with God, as God cannot commit these sins Himself. Therefore, there is no place in Heaven for those who have sinned against God and fellow mankind.
“We will repent,” I tell her. “When we get back to the ranch. I’m sorry, June Bug.”
She nods. “Smoke’s getting thicker.”
Junie is right. The minivan in front of the kei truck is invisible in the smog. Only its lights, two red eyes on its behind, warn us like a predator. The minivan warns us to stay away.
“Pull off at the next exit, Jeb. Too many cars on this road. Going too fast.”
“I’m driving safe, June Bug!”
She looks at me with her satellite-dish eyes, flat and glossy. The lashes stretch out like antennae. “No one can see us in the smoke. We could get a cow to take back to the ranch.”
“We don’t have room in the truck bed.”
“We can drop off the tallow delivery in Pocatello. Then we could double back. Lots of ranches on the Snake River.”
“It’s not night. Someone could see us.”
She crosses her arms. “Not in the smoke.”
I think of the smoke like God’s white robes. Or like Dali’s white robes. Dali’s white robes are a little stained and a little darker from being washed in the laundry with seventy-seven blue robes. The smoke is more grey than clean white, like God’s robes.
“We can use it to repent. It can be our sacrifice for sinning.”
“Can’t you wait ‘till we get back to the ranch tomorrow?”
“No, Jeb,” she cries. She snorts.
“June Bug,” I keep my eyes on the road. “Are you crying?”
“No.”
I look at her. The exit to Pocatello is in a mile. We make tallow deliveries to Miss Linda’s Naturals And Apothecary on Main Street. Miss Linda died last year and now her son Randy runs it. Randy wears shoes that fit each of his toes, like a frog.
Fat, glistening slicks of tears drain from Junie’s eyes.
“You’re crying.”
“I just can’t live with myself, Jeb.”
I put on the right-hand turn signal and shift into the exit lane.
“All right,” I nod.
Three.
Sins can be absolved, but only by the ways of God.
God put animals on Earth for man’s use. He put them on Earth to feed us. To clothe us. To defend us. To work for us. It is God’s way to use animals; otherwise, we are ignoring God’s divine creations that He means for Us.
But animals should not be killed just for absolution. To kill without honoring the animal with God’s intentions of man’s use is a sin that cannot be repented from. In killing an animal to absolve sin, the animal must be wholly used.
Take, for instance, a cow.
A cow can be killed to absolve a sin. The sin can be rendered out in its fat. The sin can be eaten and turned to nourishment in its meat. The sin can be worked into a leather hide. Animals like the cow are ultimate carriers of Utter Goodness.
The Apostolic Brethren of Zionology owns a thousand-acre ranch on the outskirts of Halleck, Nevada, bestowed upon the Prophet Dali John by God himself. It is here, at Dali John Ranch, where Prophet Dali John’s most loyal followers of the Doctrine – vetted by their commitment to Utter Goodness and the word of the Doctrine – tend to a self-sufficient farm. This growing community of Apostolic Zionologists give their lives to Utter Goodness, prayer, and production of animal goods to sell and fundraise for the ranch. If you are interested in joining us for prayer, or if you are an Apostolic Zionologist who wants to learn more about becoming a resident at Dali John Ranch, please email us at ranch@apostolicbretherenofzionology.org
Randy handed us an envelope of cash from our sales. He cut the rat tail on the back of his neck since the last time we delivered tallow to Miss Linda’s Naturals and Apothecary. The rat tail had fleas, he said, climbing up and down it like a rope. They jumped from his dog to him.
“Tea tree oil,” says Junie. “Try that in the hair, next time. But not on the dog.”
And then we are off, down Main Street. There’s a Jack In The Box. There’s an Albertsons. The Subway has advertisements for The Philly Special Cheesesteak Is Here! For a Limited Time Only in the window over the empty parking lot. There’s the sign to I-86 West, off of Alameda Road.
“Neely,” Junie says. “Take the exit at Neely. It’s on the river.”
“There will be a ranch there.”
“Cows love water.”
The smoke lays thicker the longer we drive. No lulling, dull mountains on the horizon. No ash like fallen angels, now. The sun is gone but the light is smothering all around us. Junie and I recite our afternoon prayers and I am only distracted while I’m looking for an exit to Neely, Idaho.
“Utter Goodness,” Junie murmurs. I see an exit for a state road. God answered me. “Summa Bonitas. Let Me Be The God I Seek.”
“Amen,” we sigh in unison.
***
The first cow I butchered, I cried sawing through its hindquarters. What horrible blood. What tortured flesh. Tendons, ripped by the serrated blade. Why? I cried to Dali, and he said Because you believe, Jeb. Because this is the only place you can truly repent. This is truly the only place in the world where you can practice Utter Goodness.
That was when I got to the Dali John Ranch. That was before the swine flu hit the flock last winter. We have no animals left to harvest.
“Look,” Junie points through the windshield of the kei truck. “Those black dots in the smoke.”
“Cows?”
“Cows.”
I pull over on the side of the road and the truck jostles in the gravel. The Snake River bubbles below the bank, next to us. I cut the engine.
The smoke muffles any noise.
Junie opens the glove compartment and pulls out the stun gun. Captive bolt pistol.
“I packed the robes in the box with The Doctrines,” she says.
We clamber out of the kei truck. I turn away so Junie can slip into her robe, as much as I want to look at her naked body. I strip my pants and white cotton shirt and am bare in the smoke. The edges of my skin disappear against the paleness. The air burns, dry and aching in my lungs.
I wrap myself in the cotton robe and tie my leather belt.
After the swine flu outbreak, there was much debate over slaughtering other people’s cows. On one hand, we needed to repent. We needed to keep selling meat and tallow and leather. On the other hand, they were not our cows. In the end, Dali said that God put animals on Earth for mankind’s use. Ownership was a concept of mankind. It was only following the strictest terms of Utter Goodness to find a cow and kill it. Even if it was not ours.
And, anyway, God took our herd from us for a reason.
I look at Junie and she looks at me.
“Smells like chemicals,” she says.
“The smoke?”
She nods.
“Evil smell.”
“Evil.”
We walk down the river bank. The cows see us coming, but they don’t move. They just keep chewing their grassy cud.
I look around. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Which one, Jeb? Which cow should we sacrifice?”
I point. “That one. The truck can carry that one.”
“They’re not afraid at all,” she walks up to the cow. It steps back, wary, but Junie pulls a carrot out of her robe pocket that I knew she kept in a Ziploc bag for situations like these.
“Ready?” she asks.
I close my eyes. I start to recite the prayer. Junie’s sweet voice grows louder with each word. Lord, we have sinned. Lord, our sin is not in your image. We are not the God we seek, which is you. Let us repent. Take these sins and make them anew. Amen.
She practically shrieks Amen. She repeats the prayer. I hear the fear in her trembling voice. The stun gun hisses. There is silence, except for Junie yelling Let us repent. Then, there is the solid, heavy thud of the cow hitting the ground.
“Take these sins and make them anew!”
“Amen!”
I open my eyes. The rest of the cows have disappeared into the smoke. It is only me, Junie, and the dead cow, bleeding from the hole in its flat forehead.
Fat and glistening tears splatter Junie’s red cheeks, and she is shuddering, shaking, smiling with her sweet lips closed. She drops the stun gun.
“I’ll get the truck.”
“Yes,” she sighs. Her small voice cracks. “I will help you load it into the bed. The tarps are back with the Doctrines.”
“Do you feel better?”
“Yes, Jeb. I do,” she sniffs. “Dali will be so happy.”
I walk back up to the kei truck. The blue paint glares in the smoke. Maybe we should have painted it a duller color, I think. Something less blue. Something that doesn’t glow. I settle into the driver’s seat and turn on the engine. It flips, and flips, and roars.
Maybe, I think to myself, I should ask Junie to marry me. Because then we can have children, and it’s okay to.
I turn the kei truck into the grass. The thin tires shudder and the truck bumps down the river bank. I grip the steering wheel and yank it towards Junie and the dead cow.
Suddenly, the truck hits something.
Thud.
I am thrown forward and hit my head on the windshield. The glass goes crunch. I slam on the brakes. The brakes go screech. We are not being quiet. The kei truck jerks backward. Finally, it stops in the dirt and grass.
I blink my eyes open. There is a crack in the windshield, where my forehead was, like a target. Or a spiderweb. Thin fissures stretch across the glass. Through the bullseye of the target, I see Junie’s silhouette, blurry in the smoke. Her hands clasp over her mouth.
Then, the smell.
I rub my forehead. My hand pulls back, covered in blood. “Skunk?”
“Jeb!”
Junie, the dead cow, the bullseye. It all gets fuzzier. Foggier. It isn’t just the smoke, settling into the dips and valleys of the hills. It comes all the way from Alberta. It burns, just for us. My ears ring, louder, louder.
“You hit a skunk!” I hear Junie’s muffled voice through the ringing. I feel her steps on the ground, her hands on my shoulders. “Jeb!”
“We can’t kill a skunk,” I hear myself say.
“There’s nothing to do with a skunk!” Junie yells. “We can’t honor it!”
“Junie, am I bleeding?”
“Yes, Jeb. It’s all over your face and robes. Your head hit the windshield.”
“Where are you, June Bug?” I feel my mouth move around the words. I can’t see her. My sweet June Bug. My vision is black, my eyelids warm and heavy. The air feels like a blanket. A warm, smothering blanket. A stinky, skunky blanket.
We need to get the cow, I think. Dali will be so happy. To kill without honoring the animal with God’s intentions of man’s use is a sin that cannot be repented from.
— Audrey Lee is the author of the short story collection Utter Goodness (forthcoming via Farthest Heaven). Her fiction has appeared in X-R-A-Y, Necessary Fiction, SWAMP, and Wax Nine, among others. She lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Find her at https://audreymorganlee.com and on Twitter/X @tinndfishmonger.