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4
Brothers
The
train began to slow and with a puff of steam pulled into a small country
station, coming to a groaning
halt.
“This
is it!” Joe felt a deepening of
alertness, a thrill of tension. It was the end of the line for him.
“Oakchester!
Oakchester!” called the guard, descending from the van.
“Just
you?” he asked, as Joe walked towards him.
“Looks
like it,” said Joe. “I have a
trunk.”
“Right,”
said the guard, and tucking his green flag under his arm he helped Joe to slide
and lift the shiny metal trunk onto the gravel platform.
“Thanks,”
said Joe.
“Right,”
said the guard, and stepped back into his van, waving the flag and giving a
sharp peep on his whistle.
There
was an answering hoot from the engine and the train groaned prodigiously, spat
out much steam and got under way.
Not a great line in rolling stock, thought Joe, and then the train was
gone, a plume of smoke rising above tall, leafy trees as the square end of the
guard’s van disappeared round a bend.
Joe was absolutely alone, standing on the platform in his grey suit,
sweating in the afternoon heat.
It was quiet.
Looking
around Joe could see thickly planted trees that climbed up a hill, behind a red
brick station building nestling in a small gravel car park.
He
scuffed a shoe in the dust and walked around - waiting, and then sat down on the
trunk, wincing slightly at the touch of the hot metal.
He took off his jacket and folded it to make a cushion.
A
trickle of sweat dripped down both cheeks and he loosened his tie.
A business suit was not the best dress in this place.
In
the silence Joe’s perceptions intensified and he became aware of the sound of
birds, and then the whisper of leaves as a light breeze ghosted through the tops
of the tall trees.
A
small bird ran and pecked at the edge of a flower bed.
A fat bee buzzed and nuzzled a flower in a peaceful world of hot,
somnolent beauty.
The
roar of an engine and a squeal of brakes shattered the quiet and a battered
estate car swept into the station car park, coming to an abrupt stop.
The
tall, stout figure of a friar, clad in flowing white and black robes, burst out
of the driver’s door and leaving it flopping open bustled towards Joe.
Face
plump and perspiring, red and apologetic behind large black framed glasses the
new arrival gasped,
“Joseph
Coyle? Sorry I’m late. That dammed estate car again!
Will not start when it’s needed! My
heavens you have a load there,” pointing towards the trunk and beginning to
tug at it.
“Don’t
tell me you took all that nonsense about clothes literally! You’ll have enough
with you to last twenty years – if you survive!”
So
saying he and Joe took each end of the trunk and deposited it in the rear of the
car, the friar thumping down the folding tailgate door with such force that Joe
was sure that he saw pieces of metal fly off.
Only
then did the newcomer turn to Joe and say, “I’m Brother Edward.
Glad to meet you. Let’s get
a move on,” and he shook Joe’s hand and dived for the driver’s door.
“P-pleased
to meet … you,” Joe stammered, overwhelmed by such dynamism.
“Oh
what a day!” exclaimed Bro. Edward, slamming into a gear and pulling a starter
at the same time. “Never felt a
summer like it. It’s beginning to
get to me!”
The
car jerked out of the station yard and they began to ascend a steep, winding
road that mounted the hillside.
“We’ll
be in time for a cuppa tea.” Bro. Edward spoke in a high pitched voice in an
accent that Joe thought was from
Lancashire
.
“Only
two more of you young men to come. Quite
a good intake this year.”
“How
many are due?” asked Joe.
“The
round dozen. You’re Irish?”
“How
kin y’tell?” asked Joe, putting on a broad Northern Irish accent.
Bro.
Edward laughed, “You’re not as broad as that!”
“No,
I suppose not. I’ve been around a bit, travelled a bit, and I have probably
lost a lot of the accent. Had to
when I left the North. People
couldn’t understand me.”
“It’s
always a problem,” said Bro. Edward. “What
made you come into this lark?” Bro.
Edward seemed to have little difficulty in jumping from one topic to another.
“Conscience,”
said Joe. “It seemed the only thing to do.
I eventually realised that all the things I had heard at home were true
– the basic stuff I mean, not some of the external rubbish – and I had to
follow it up.”
“I
see. A late developer. It’s hard
to do.”
“Aye,
you could say that!”
“I
suppose you had to leave a girl behind?”
“Aye."
“Hard
to do.” Bro. Edward was
sympathetic. “I
had to leave a fella behind myself!”
“A fella!” Joe could not prevent his voice from rising.
“Yes
m’old dear!” Bro. Edward was smiling. “We’re
not all as straight as you.”
Catching
the expression of alarm on Joe’s face Bro. Edward burst into laughter.
“Not
to worry old thing. Don’t worry!
Not practising! Just a
Christian now!”
Joe
was looking at the large friar in amazement,
“But
how ..you .. I mean how can you live ...?”
“With
a crowd of men you mean?”
Joe
nodded weakly.
Brother
Edward’s eyes danced with merriment behind his large glasses.
“Well,
I could hardly join the nuns, could I? No
matter how I might like to!”
“But,
but .. does it not lead to .. to difficulties….?”
Bro.
Edward laughed uproariously!
“Believe
me, we have no time for … difficulties!”
Joe
could not help but join in the laughter. Edward’s
humour was infectious.
"My
God! If people knew that … if
people knew that you were here it would confirm everything that they have
thought about monasteries."
“Priories
old dear. Priories! We’re a priory. Benedictines and Cistercians and things
like that have monasteries and abbeys. We Dominicans have priories.”
“Well
- Priories. If the Reverend Paisley knew that you ... were here ... he would be
ranting and raving about the red whore of
Babylon
and all that jazz.”
“Well.
I have to be somewhere y’know,” Bro Edward said gently, sounding apologetic.
“I
know, but...” Joe was confused.
“...
and this is where I have to be, to be saved, to be saved - to be shure to be
shure!”
Bro
Edward laughed delightedly and Joe could not help but join in - waving his hands
in the air as if giving up.
Bro.
Edward calmed down and concentrated on making his way round a sharply rising
bend in the road.
“No.
I have had it all explained to me. There are some people whose genes get all
mixed up and they can’t help themselves. Biologically they are women... or
more female than male. We are all a mixture of male and female. Some peoples’
percentages go all haywire. They can’t help being born that way. That’s me.
So I have to accept it, and do the best I can to avoid the occasion of sin
...”
“...
so you come to live with a body of men….”
“I
know it sounds odd!” Bro. Edward was laughing again as he concentrated on
another sharp bend. “But
here - in the Priory I mean - there’s not so much time to think about normal
things ... I mean normal to me!” Bro. Edward bubbled with laughter. “I just
put myself in Christ’s hands and leave the rest up to him. That’s what you
have to do!”
“That’s
certainly what I have to do,” Joe agreed.
“And
it’s no different for me. If I were a raving, practicing homosexual - I mean
had given myself totally up to lust and pleasure - I wouldn’t be here. I
wouldn’t be able to stick it. It’s the best place for me ... you see
m’dear!” Bro. Edward acted like
a fussy old aunt and patted Joe’s knee.
In
another situation Joe might have reacted violently to being patted with on the
leg by a professed homosexual. On
this occasion he could only laugh. He
felt quite safe, and his laughter was tinged with respect.
“I
see. You’re quite a guy brother Edward!”
Bro.
Edward pouted. “Oh do call me Edwina! Big Ed!”, and laughed so hilariously
that the interior of the old vehicle filled and burbled with such a volume of
laughter that it seemed to overflow and echo into the sky as the battered
station wagon chugged round a final corner and drew up in front of an ancient
stone building.
As
they got out of the car Joe was aware of mellow Cotswold stone and rambling
roses climbing high against the stonework of a long two-storey building,
connected to a small but beautifully proportioned church, with a soaring spire.
Almost
before the car stopped Bro. Edward was out and had the rear door open, tugging
at Joe’s trunk.
On
his way to join him Joe heard a voice calling from on high, “Cooee! Cooee!
Brother Edward! Have you seen that cat?”
Startled,
Joe looked up.
Poking
out from the open casement window, with its diamond-shaped leaded lights, was a
three-foot length of garden cane. Tied to the end of the cane was a piece of
string, and tied to the end of the string was a ball of paper.
Framed
in the open window was the pale face of an ancient friar, black cowl drawn over
his head and lengthy wisps of white hair projecting and curling round his face.
It
was this apparition who held the other end of the cane in a claw-like talon.
“Haven’t
seen it Father. Probably up in the raspberry canes,” Bro. Edward said in a
matter of fact voice.
“Thank
you Brother,” said the ancient vision, and the cowled, aged head was
withdrawn.
“What
- who on earth is that?” gasped Joe.
Bro.
Edwards was calmly lugging at the trunk.
“Oh...
That’s Father Valentine. He’s going fishing for the cat.”
“Fishing
for the cat?”
“Yes.
It’s just about his time now. Just before tea.”
“Fishing
for the cat?!”
Bro.
Edward realised Joe was perplexed.
“Oh,
yes. He’s got a special relationship with the cat. Been at it some months now
- no, I don’t mean that!” he laughed wickedly.
“He’s old and doddery - but don’t write him off.”
Just
at that Fr. Valentine appeared at the front door, carrying his cat fishing rod
before him.
He
shuffled towards them - a weird looking figure in white habit, with black cloak
and hood despite the heat.
“In
the raspberry canes brother?”
“Probably,”
said Bro. Edward.
The
ancient priest looked at Joe.
Seen
up close the skin of his face was smooth and almost as white as the hair that
curled from under the black hood.
“Hello
young man. Joining us?”
“Er....
I think so.”
“Good,”
said Fr. Val, with a twinkle in his eye, “Keep the faith,” and
he passed on his way, calling out, “Here
pussy, pussy! Here pussy, pussy!”
He
shuffled off in the direction of the garden, leaving Joe open mouthed,
dumbfounded.
Bro.
Edward, continuing to lug the trunk, looked at him and started to laugh.
“Don’t
underestimate him. He’s engaged in some psychological experiments. He has
published some very heavyweight books on religion and psychology - at least they
look heavyweight to me - and now he seems to have gone on to cats’ minds. The
fathers are not too sure whether he is going to make some major breakthrough or
if he is just doting - but don’t write him off! One of the brainiest members
of the Order they say, or used to be.”
“I’ll
believe almost anything,” said Joe faintly, looking after the departing
figure, and then lifted his end of the trunk.
Fr.
Valentine’s voice floated back from the distance, “Here pussy, pussy! Here
pussy, pussy!”
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