Joachim had stopped his work halfway through Michael’s speech. He now gazed blankly at the old Brother, wondering if he could possibly be really hearing what he thought he was hearing.
“Don’t!” he screamed.
“The only Little Flower is down there, Brother,” and Michael grabbed Joachim between the legs and held him tightly.
Joachim tried to pull Michael’s arm away but the old Brother held on.
“That’s the only Little Flower there is, Brother! Let’s see if we can get it to grow!”
Joachim stopped struggling then and attempted to reason with Brother Michael. “Mortal sin. This is a mortal sin!” he told him.
But the claw hand did not stop squeezing him. The contorted white face kept repeating, “It’s growing, Brother! Sure isn’t it a Big Flower now!”
Brother Michael suddenly let go of Joachim but continued to gaze down. “Sure it’s a strong young bull you are!” he exclaimed. “I can tell you I’d like to fiddle with your strong young stem, my Little Flower. It didn’t take long to make you grow, did it, my friend? But don’t worry. I’ll see you all right. I’ll see you satisfied.” He looked round fearfully. “Meet me at the rubbish dump during your cross-country. You can easily run off the course and come to me there. There’s nothing wrong. I’ll see you all right.”
“Never!” exclaimed Joachim, though he did not believe himself. The smell of the gun emplacements at the back of the Prom filled his head. He wanted more than anything to go with Brother Michael. His lust rose from him in waves and made him feel he was about to pass out.
Brother Michael smiled. “Never is a long time. You’d better be getting on with your work now. I’ll see you this afternoon. Goodbye, Brother.”
“You won’t see me!” Joachim shouted to the retreating form of Brother Michael, who perhaps did not hear. He just gave Joachim a wave and was gone.
If sin were a feeling, Joachim felt he was already deeply mired. Once again God had turned away. The white sheet of his soul was black and filled with crawling maggots. Were he to die he would join the devils of his dreams. How they would laugh! How they would torture him!
“I am lost,” he told himself as he turned back to mattocking the ground. To chide him further, his erection refused to go away. “I am lost,” he repeated.
As if by some divine intervention the weather turned nasty that day.
During lunch the rain battered against the windows and Novvy said, “It looks like it’s library reading for you lot today.”
And that was how it turned out.
Joachim leaned forward on his desk reading a biography of St Philip Neri. He rested his elbows on the desk and blocked his ears with his thumbs.
Was he in mortal sin? Would he have gone to the rubbish dump to meet Brother Michael? He felt that he probably would have. When the rain started he had felt badly cheated.
But what about Brother Michael? What did he mean? He said he was playing Devil’s Advocate. Did that mean he was not serious when he said, “There is no God.” How could he? Is that really what he thought?
He made an Act of Contrition. That would be all right until he got to Confession. He would have to go to Confession about this. But what would he say? But he would have to go. He couldn’t go to bed in this state. He might be taken in the night and then where would he be?
Joachim read page after page of his book without taking in a word. At last he dozed off and did not wake up until the bell went for the Rosary.
After supper Joachim went to Novvy and asked if he could go and call on Father O’Callaghan. Novvy said he could as long as he was back in time for night prayers. Joachim trotted out into the dusk and up the path to the lodge where Father O’Callaghan, a retired missionary and chaplain at St Finbar’s, lived with his housekeeper, Miss Harper.
It was Miss Harper who answered the door. She was a kind woman who encouraged the novices to visit by always providing tea and cake.
“You’d like to see Father?” she asked.
“Yes, please, Miss Harper.”
“Go on in. He’s watching the television. He’ll be glad to see you, Brother.”
Joachim went to the sitting-room door and knocked on it.
“Come in!”
Father O’Callaghan sat on the floor of the sitting room on pillows made from pieces of Oriental rugs. The room was full of Indian carved tables, inlaid boxes and ebony elephants, mementoes of his time as a missionary in Afghanistan.
“It’s Brother Joachim, is it? Have a seat.”
Joachim sat down across the low table from the priest.
“What can I do for you?”
“I want you to hear my Confession, Father, if that’s all right.”
“Yes, of course. Can we just wait until the end of this programme?”
Father O’Callaghan was watching ‘Criss Cross Quiz’. Joachim watched the screen mesmerised. He had not seen television for a long time and was amazed at how strange it looked. The images, blue-toned, danced in front of his eyes and made him feel giddy. He found he was able to answer some of the questions but did not speak them out loud, as he would have done if Mum had been there. Father O’Callaghan showed no reluctance, however. He knew all the answers.
At last the programme finished. Father O’Callaghan reached over and turned off the television. Then Miss Harper brought in a tray with tea and cake. This she laid down on the table and left.
“Well, let’s get the business over with and then take our pleasure,” said Father O’Callaghan.
Joachim knelt in front of the priest and told him everything that had happened that day, though he did not mention Brother Michael by name.
“And did you want to do anything with the man?” asked the priest.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Well that’s usually how it is in matters of impurity. You want to. Then you don’t want to and then before you know it there you are and Bob’s your uncle it’s all over and you feel dreadful.”
“Yes, Father. That’s it.”
“And you’ve come haring up here when you could be having a well-earned chat with the other novices because you think you’ve committed a mortal sin, is that it?”
“Yes, Father.”
“You novices and your scruples will be the death of me!” sighed Father O’Callaghan. “Let me tell you, son, that a mortal sin is terribly difficult to commit. You’ve really got to get up early to commit one. You can’t do it when you’re all hot and bothered and it sounds to me like you were very hot and bothered this morning. So don’t worry about that. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sure, it’s easily done. I’ve spent my whole life in the wrong place at the wrong time. You see before you a missionary who never converted a soul to the True Faith. Imagine that! But that’s not the point. You haven’t mentioned the name of the Brother who did this thing... “ Father O’Callaghan left the question hanging.
“No, Father.”
“Well, that’s fine. I can probably guess who it was and anyway as sure as eggs is eggs he’ll be along to me before much time has passed, the silly old fool.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Well for your penance say ten Hail Marys. No, on second thoughts, don’t say ten Hail Marys. You must be fed up to the back teeth with Hail Marys. Instead, say a prayer of your own for me and Miss Harper and, for good measure, you can say one for all my friends in Afghanistan. Who knows, the prayers of a young novice far away may do more to convert them from the wretched heresy of Mohammedanism than a lifetime of my waffling.”
“Is it true you didn’t convert anyone?” asked Joachim.
Father O’Callaghan frowned but his eyes twinkled almost merrily. “Yes, it’s quite true. But don’t go telling the whole place. It might get back to the relations at home. They think they came flocking in to be baptised in their
thousands. Well, they came flocking in all right, but only for the antibiotics and the milk powder. The trouble with the Afghan is that he is as certain about his religion as we are about ours. It the very devil to shift them.”
“They sound a silly people!” exclaimed Joachim.
“Maybe. Anyway, that’s by the way. Now make an Act of Contrition and we’ll eat some of Miss Harper’s seed cake.”
Father O’Callaghan recited the words of absolution over Joachim while the boy made an Act of Contrition. As always happened, he felt a huge weight being lifted from him and a feeling of light elation taking its place.
Joachim ate three slices of seed cake and washed it down with two cups of tea. Then it was time to go and, feeling as light as air, he thanked Father O’Callaghan, said goodnight to Miss Harper, and skipped back to St Finbar’s a different person.
The stars smiled down at him and Joachim smiled back at them, his heart full of love, his stomach full of seed cake.
Time passed. Sometimes it passed fast like a car on a straight road determined to make its destination by nightfall. At other times it dawdled along like a cyclist on holiday with nothing better to do than enjoy the passing scenery.
And, as autumn turned to winter, Joachim found that he had been able to resist the blandishments of Brother Michael. He treated him as a joke. Instead of protesting to him shrilly about hellfire, he used his newly acquired agility to dodge away from his grasping fingers, called him a ‘silly old man’ and made fun of his protestations. All this was done with the help and connivance of Father O’Callaghan, who listened to Joachim’s weekly reports and advised him on tactics. The priest also kept telling him that he was only passing through ‘a queer stage’ and would soon come out of it and be afflicted by the usual lustful temptations of everyman. Devoutly Joachim hoped so.
At last Brother Michael gave up visiting Joachim during manual work. Perhaps he turned his attention to another novice. Anyway, it got Joachim off the hook.
But, as one temptation faded, another one took its place. Joachim had fallen hopelessly in love with a visiting African Brother.
Brother de Porres arrived at St Finbar’s with the first snow of winter. This occurred on Boxing Day and was to presage the hardest winter in living memory. But, for Joachim, the black Brother’s arrival brought spring into his heart.
He had been sweeping the dull floor of the cloister when Brother de Porres arrived. Accompanied by the Provincial of the Brothers, he had swept past him carrying a suitcase and a large parcel wrapped in newspaper. Novvy had moved back a pace. The Provincial nodded to him. Brother de Porres smiled ebony and stars and said, “Good morning, Brother!” in a voice of deepest song, a wave breaking on warm pebbles. Joachim held tightly onto his brush, opened his mouth to reply, forgetting the Great Silence, but could only manage a gasp.
Thus he had his first sight of a black man in the flesh. He had seen Nat King Cole and Paul Robeson on television. The former sang songs which Mum liked and sang at the sink; the latter sang songs which Dad liked and sang in the greenhouse.
Paul Robeson was also Joachim’s preference, and he had been known to stand abjectly in front of the mirror in the lounge and belt out ‘No More Auction Block For Me’ and ‘Oh, Lord! What a Morning!’ But Brother de Porres was not at all like either of these men.
Joachim watched him retreating down the cloister, dressed in a cassock very similar to his, yet seeming to glide along on castors, so tall he was. He towered above the Provincial, who was quite tall himself. He came up level with the Stations of the Cross he was passing. He could have dusted them easily without standing on a chair.
The apparition disappeared round the corner, leaving Joachim clutching his brush rather in the manner of St Martin de Porres, after whom the black Brother was named, and who was always seen in statuary holding a brush, while a dog and a cat played around his feet.
He returned to his work wondering who he could be. Nothing had been said about him. He was obviously not a novice. Joachim wondered if anyone could tell him more. It struck him that probably Brother Michael would know something.
Novvy said nothing during morning classes and Joachim could hardly wait for the start of manual work. He dawdled as he passed Brother Michael’s window, something he never did.
In no time at all Brother Michael appeared above him over the balustrade, beaming down, as Joachim cleared snow from the path that ran next to the garden.
“And how’s my young friend this fine crisp morning?”
“Well, Brother,” replied Joachim, “I’m curious, though. Have you seen the new black Brother?”
“Sure, wouldn’t you have to be dead or daft to miss him?” exclaimed Brother Michael. “I’ll tell you why he’s been sent to St Finbar’s: he’s come to eat up all you young novices while your flesh is still tender and firm.”
Joachim frowned. “Be serious, Brother! Who is he?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just do. I saw him this morning when he arrived. He seemed nice. He said ‘Good Morning’ to me.”
Brother Michael frowned belligerently. “Oh, he did, did he? I see I’ve got some competition on me hands. I’d watch meself if I were you, Brother Joachim. You know what they say about Negroes.”
Brother Joachim didn’t. “What?” he asked and at once he started to dread the answer, as Brother Michael looked anxiously to right and left, always a sign that there would follow an indiscreet revelation. “They’re built like stallions and they just can’t get enough. That’s why they have to dance all the time. Sure, ‘tis either that or go completely berserk.”
“How do you mean?” asked Joachim.
“What I say.”
“I don’t believe you! Where’s he from in Africa?”
But Brother Michael had withdrawn cooperation. He looked out over the white fields of frozen Wiltshire and said, “My niece, Moira, was a nun in the Congo. She’s got a little brown baby to prove it.”
“But if she’s a nun...”
“She was a nun. Now she’s a mum in Westport, County Mayo, with a brown baby as a souvenir.”
“But if she was a nun...”
“She was a nun until the soldiers came to Leopoldville. Raped.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Joachim shook his head hard in an attempt to erase Brother Michael’s words. He only half succeeded but managed at last to say, “Brother! Can’t you just tell me who the black Brother is?”
“Oh, very well. He’s Brother de Porres and he’s from Uganda. He’s the first African Brother and he’s been studying in Rome. Now he’s on a tour of the English Province to encourage Brothers to volunteer for Africa. But I wouldn’t volunteer if I were you, Brother. You might get raped like my poor cousin Moira, or sold into slavery. It all happens down there, Brother. It all happens there.”
Joachim pulled a face at Brother Michael and decided to give him a piece of Holy Admonition. “Well I think Brother de Porres looks extremely saintly.”
“Ha!” commented Brother Michael. Then, after another look to right and left, he whispered, “Sure, sanctity I wouldn’t be knowing about but I bet he’s got a big one, Brother Joachim.”
“Don’t be so silly, Brother Michael.”
“Oh, I’m silly now am I?” cried Brother Michael, sensing the hunt. “Well let me tell you that if it weren’t so treacherous underfoot, I’d get these legs of mine down there to where you are and show you a good piece of Irish beef. The Irish are a bit like Negroes in that respect. However, we have the benefits of a thousand years of Christianity. It has given us the ability to keep a tight rein on our passions.”
“You need to roll in the snow like St Francis,” shot back Joachim, who, thanks to the detailed tactical lectures from Father O’Callaghan, felt not the least fear of Brother Michael.
“You haven’t decided to retu
rn to the world before it’s too late, I suppose?” asked Brother Michael.
“No, I haven’t, Brother. I feel that my vocation is as strong as ever, thanks be to God.”
“There is no God, Brother,” whispered Brother Michael. There was always a hint of sadness in his voice and defeat in his stance when he said these words, as he did each time he met Joachim.
“There is a God, Brother!” replied Joachim joyfully. “Look at the snow! Look at that tree!” And he pointed to the old willow by the artificial lake, bent by the weight of fresh snow.
“Accident. Pure accident.”
“I am praying for you, Brother.”
“So you’re praying for me, are you? Thanks a lot. I’d far rather you’d come to the rubbish dump with me.”
“We’ve been through this before. I won’t,” replied Joachim paternally.
Brother Michael pouted like a prune. “Other novices have, I can tell you that, Brother. And they’ve never regretted it.”
“I don’t believe you!”
Again the look to right and left. “Your PF for instance. Brother Ninian and I have had a good time together where nobody can see.”
“You’re lying!” shouted Joachim.
Brother Michael looked startled, looked about him and disappeared from the balustrade, but he could be heard saying, “I’m lying, am I?” as he retreated, leaving Joachim to clear the snow and pray for him and Brother Ninian.
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