Mukurob

by André Costa

  It was not that David had no opinion on the matter. He was, after all, a Catholic priest, and thus committed to guarding and defending the dogmatic foundation of the institution he vowed to represent. Had his friend not trapped him into this pathetic position, David would have probably backed Dr. Ferguson’s assertion. Or better yet, he would not have been present at all.

  Why did a priest have to be there in the first place? He asked himself. Despite his natural charisma and popularity among the local youth, that was the question that many indeed asked themselves. As his position became increasingly disturbing, David forced his mind to remain focused, but his emotions were dragged around in circles along the path chosen by humans.

  Elizabeth noticed the distant look in the priest’s eyes and declared: “Father Callaghan, I will leave my Church if it decides that the Bible’s teachings on sexuality, marriage, and family are no longer true. On this day, my Church won’t be a Christian one anymore.”

  Elizabeth’s outburst so blatantly divorced her from her childhood oath that it revealed the uselessness of prolonging the debate. At the very least, it reminded David that he had accepted the task precisely to try and avoid such incidents. He had failed miserably. In fact, bolstered by their superior numbers and pleased with their righteous rhetoric, the proponents of the religious argument suggested putting an end to the discussion. They had not forgotten the previous decision—reached in consensus by all interested parties—to simulate a voting process at the end of the meeting, but the ambiance had been irremediably poisoned.

  David did not object. He thanked everyone for their presence and was indeed one of the first to leave the venue at 7:25 p.m. His participation—or rather lack thereof—hung in the room like smoke and was subject to fierce scrutiny by both sides of the debate until the lights went out.

  Chapter VI

  After leaving the building, David followed the path back to The Square. It was not cold, but he walked with his arms crossed not wanting to be bothered. His thoughts were centered on only one person: John Buckley. In a moment, as he did every Thursday evening around eight o’clock, his uncle would be serving the Old Boys’ goulash.

  In honor of Saint Patrick, the recipe—the origins of which were found in medieval Hungarian cuisine—had been updated with peas and leeks upon David’s advice, and it was the business’s most popular dish. As soon as he arrived, his uncle’s broad smile and tight hug brought the coziness and humanity that he needed to re-conquer his appetite.

  The bar was abuzz with numerous voices, more so than usual, and Buckley dragged a tiny table away from the noisy chattering. With his head down, David surrendered to the stew and half a bottle of red wine.

  “So, is it true what they say? That my nephew is struggling with life?”

  John Buckley had the tendency to get straight to the point, though always implying that his opinion was supported by a third-person source. David found that formula, which he called cowardly rudeness, to be whimsical. But not this time. The debate on homosexual marriage had made him feel an enormous lethargy towards everything that was predictable or mechanic.

  “What a great way to ask how I feel, Uncle! No, not with life, no… but with the living, maybe.”

  “Ah, well, if that’s the case, we are finally speaking the same language,” said Buckley, punctuating the awkwardness with a laugh that, as usual, had an uplifting effect. He laughed from the waist up, making it the most palpable display of his charisma.

  Ensconced in a chair in front of his nephew, Buckley waved at the assistant barman for a new bottle of wine and two clean glasses. Those moments of conviviality with David had become rare since the news of Karen’s death, and the special occasion had to be extended for as long as possible. However, they drank the entire first glass of the second bottle of wine exchanging fraternal glances in absolute silence. David’s attention only moved from Buckley’s expression when the indelible Peter O’Ryan, whose chair had miraculously appeared next to his, elbowed him unceremoniously.

  “Father Callaghan, sorry to interrupt, but I need an indulgence for tonight,” said Peter as David acknowledged his inconvenient presence. “Don’t look at me like that, Father… I haven’t sinned yet, but God knows I will, or at least I want to. And thanks to old Buckley’s fine whiskey, I don’t wish to wake up with an extra burden on my shoulders.”

  These were the rare moments when John Buckley resented his work. He believed that the occupation of tavern owner ought to be the most prestigious in a community—few human gestures were as altruistic as giving up the best hours of sleep and leisure in order to enable a democratic interplay of souls and thoughts. He knew he would never be a laureate for his gifts in written or spoken words, or any other artistic endeavors, but rather for his temperance. For this reason alone, he should be granted the highest reputation among his fellows; maybe even be immortalized in a marble or bronze statue. The temperance of a tavern owner, Buckley believed, was indeed one of the most commendable displays of human generosity.

  David was not particularly quick to laugh but was not averse to wearing a subtle smile when the occasion called for it. Until spring, at least, he had been gifted with good humor, which tended to be more appreciated outside the Church; and sarcasm, in general, did not bother him. For good measure, however, he decided to stop building room for the silence and immediately put the non-verbal conversation with Buckley into words.

  “I’ve been thinking about Adam and Eve, Uncle.”

  “The original sin?”

  “Not exactly…I’m not referring to the Book of Genesis or the Quran but rather to the first homo sapiens couple on earth.”

  “Homo sapiens? Oh, well, we’re still speaking the same language. And does it have anything to do with your emotional state?”

  “Did someone tell you that as well?”

  “Maybe,” Buckley laughed.

  “I’m serious, Uncle. I read an article that really made an impression on me.”

  David, having captured Buckley’s full attention, described in minutiae the news about the scientific theory which genetically acknowledged the San people of Southern Africa as the oldest human group on Earth.

  Absorbed, Buckley understood that the young priest, ever since the news of his best friend’s brutal death, might have been seeking an answer beyond his faith and beliefs. He was all ears.

  ”You know, Uncle, we must admit that we have failed to enlighten ourselves even though religion has been part of our daily lives for thousands of years.”

  ”Or precisely because of that…,” Buckley laughed out loud.

  “No, something went vehemently wrong with the human experiment. We haven’t come all the way from Africa to end up like this!” David fell silent for a moment as he felt another nudge on his shoulders. As he turned, he stared into Peter’s eyes.

  “Peter, it seems you’re enjoying the conversation over my shoulder, but I would prefer it if you said something.” There was no answer, so he turned back to his uncle and heard the chair being dragged away.

  Having witnessed how David had deftly maneuvered around the conflict with his popular guest, Buckley decided to play accomplice to his nephew’s grief. He told him that his life experience on several continents had led him to believe that a good share of the world’s cruelty was spontaneous. Conversely, the practice of good deeds almost always demanded a previous rationalization, as if the individual wanted to outline in his memory something that would be useful to him when making amends to God.

  David raised his eyebrows and broke into a broad smile, resting his hands on his uncle’s. “You’re a fortunate man, John Buckley. Like the owl, my dear Uncle, you have learned to see in the dark.”

  “But many have burned at stake for that,” the gray-haired tavern owner laughed.

  David felt relieved. Buckley’s testimonial had shed some light on his own life story, and his heart was now filled wi
th enthusiasm. His youthful rebelliousness, his theological formation, the cassock, the philosophical conversations with Duane, the uprightness of his mother’s character, Elizabeth’s daisies, and even his lawyer’s assertions had to conform to some logic, make some sense…The conversation with the only remaining family member had taken a better course than expected. It did not last as long as they both had wanted, but it had not been frugal, as they had feared.

  David was actually the one to cut the conversation short, claiming that it had been so inspiring that he needed to get back to his place to reflect on it. He said it with tired yet luminous eyes as he got up to leave. Buckley had just enough time to grab a chocolate cookie from his own pocket and put it in David’s pocket—a gesture repeated numerous times and a pact of loyalty in the uncle-nephew relationship. As David stepped out into the night air, he left behind the memory of his smile, which had become a quintessential element of that evening.

  Overwhelmed by empathy, Buckley’s sanguine face remained still while his stare followed his nephew’s steps. He felt that David’s life was about to burst open, but had yet to conceive that, less than three weeks after their conversation, he would be waving goodbye to the young priest at Dublin’s international airport.

  Father David Callaghan, on leave authorized by the bishop of Limerick, and carrying a single piece of luggage insistently packed by Elizabeth O’Brien, was beginning his journey to Africa without a compass or a Bible. While kissing John Buckley’s hands moments before boarding, his last words were: “Uncle, rest assured, I need to know what went wrong.”

  PART 2

  Chapter I

  During the nearly twenty-hour flight that separated Dublin from Hosea Kutako International Airport in Namibia, which included two uncomfortable stopovers, David had enough time to sift through—in diverse and sometimes conflicting ways—the confusion that his life had become after his decision to travel to the African continent. Above the clouds, his thoughts were more apparent, and the few weeks that separated him from the community debate on homosexual marriage now seemed like an eternity.

  Although his behavior had kept ears and mouths occupied in Newcastle West, the sudden request for a license from priestly engagements had thrown even more wood onto the fire, leaving the diocese of Limerick and the good ladies of the Tea Club in a state of near shock. It was up to Elizabeth to convey to the local Christian community an explanation for Father Callaghan’s sudden departure.

  David had spent the last days buried in logistical and bureaucratic necessities—something he was not accustomed to since his previous trips had all been to European destinations. This time, much to his annoyance, he needed numerous documents. The greater irritation—he began to realize—lay not in arranging practical matters but rather in his lack of clarity of purpose.

  At the Tea Club meeting shortly after David’s departure, the ladies had all jostled on one side of the table, leaving Elizabeth O’Brien alone in the spotlight. The guardian of David’s secrets, in trying to justify his voluntary disappearance, found herself unable to look her friends in the eyes. So instead, she focused on the empty space just above their heads, with her arms crossed like a shield in front of her body. She then forgot about the philosophical concerns that David had confided in her, finding better shelter in the Holy Scripture, more precisely in John 6:38.

  “Father Callaghan doesn’t doubt that he came to this world to do the will of the Lord, and his desire doesn’t need to be comprehensible to the reasoning of men but to their hearts,” said Elizabeth, her dilated pupils betraying her inner commotion.

  Elizabeth’s free interpretation of the biblical passage paid off. Not only did it help to soften criticism of the young priest’s intemperance, but it also resulted in the formation of a chain of spiritual support for the journey on which David had embarked, whatever his destiny would be.

  In recognition of her invaluable care, hours before his departure, David had entrusted to Elizabeth his most prized earthly possession. It was a brass candlestick, which had belonged to St. Samantha, one of the four Irish female saints of the eighth century—a time when the island was recognized as “the land of the saints.” The relic had been cherished by many generations of Callaghans. David had always found it difficult to worship the object, which in his childhood had produced a sense of guilt in bringing him closer to the Protestant’s attitude against the adoration of sacred relics, yet he was fully aware of its immense monetary value. Elizabeth had not known of the valuable candlestick passed down through the ages, but the revelation was so extraordinary that she looked into David’s eyes, put both of her hands on his shoulders, and accepted the errand with an earnestness reminiscent of a Knights Templar guarding the pilgrim path to the Holy Land.

  Amidst the many tasks during his last days in Ireland, David found time for a short anthropological study of the San people. He also read about the history of the region of the African continent they called home, more precisely the Kalahari Desert between Namibia and Botswana. He found it particularly noteworthy that Namibia, a country so young, emancipated from South Africa only a quarter of a century before, was the keeper of such incomparable preciousness: the living ancestors of the most ancient humans.

  Still crossing the Atlantic, and unable to sleep despite consuming two small bottles of wine, David sought to revise the scientific aspects of the discovery. He had been a lousy biology student in his school days and was counting on the aridity of texts extracted from the journal Science and an article printed from The Independent online to help him find his lost sleep:

  (…) A study of 121 distinct populations of modern-day Africans has found that they are all descended from 14 ancestral populations and that the differences and similarities of their genes closely follow the differences and similarities of their spoken languages.

  The scientists analyzed the genetic variation within the DNA of more than 3,000 Africans and found that the San were among the most genetically diverse group, indicating that they are probably the oldest continuous population of humans on the continent–and on earth.

  The study, published in the Science journal, involved ten years of research comprising trips to some of the most remote and dangerous parts of Africa to collect blood samples. The project found that modern Africans had the most diverse DNA of all racial groups in the world, confirming the theory that Africa is the birthplace of humanity, said Sarah Tishkoff of the University of Pennsylvania (…)

  It was not working. The journalistic nature of the text did nothing to diminish his interest, let alone lull him to sleep. Later, while pretending to be asleep so as not to be dragged into a conversation by two enthusiastic and talkative English ladies—one on each shoulder—he remembered that he had not yet received any news regarding the logistics of his arrival. He had entrusted these to a former seminarian with whom he had had virtual contact mediated by a South African cleric based in Dublin.

  In the rather few but thick messages David exchanged with the former seminarian—whose name was John Paul Elliot—he found out that his interlocutor’s sound knowledge of the Bible was cultivated at early age in his childhood spent with Catholic grandparents in Cape Town. However, to the disenchantment of his tutors, John Paul wrote, his passion for anthropology eventually made him withdraw from the rigidity of priestly life.

  The scientific evidence of human evolution and the explanations for homo sapiens’ repeated misfortunes were of particular interest to John Paul. Both as a student of social anthropology at a local university and as a volunteer and handyman on a scientific expedition through Southern Africa, the former seminarian knew that he was following untamed human steps. Wild and original, those steps would eventually lead him to a blueprint for reforming the entire civilization. Something infinitely more precious than the emeralds of Zimbabwe or the diamonds of Namibia.

  When David contacted him, John Paul—or Jack, as he had been called in childhood—was serving
with a pair of Scandinavian researchers studying the socio-cultural and linguistic characteristics of the San people, a subdivision of the Khoisan of South West Africa. “With a history estimated to go back tens of thousands of years, this hunter-gatherer people are now reduced to small populations located mainly in the Kalahari Desert,” wrote Jack.

  When the plane started its descent towards Hosea Kutako International Airport, David could see from the window that the aircraft would land in the immensity of the semi-arid savannah. Ten minutes after the captain’s announcement, it was not yet possible to see the airport facilities or any urban structure. It was then that he remembered reading somewhere about the meaning of the Tswana word that had baptized the Kalahari: “the great thirst.” In a mechanical movement, he took a sip from a small bottle of mineral water he had saved from dinner. Five minutes later, the aircraft found the ground.

  As he waited for his bag, staring at the conveyor belt as if it were a distant landscape, David thought of the Garden of Eden as described in the Book of Genesis. From what he could see as he got off the plane, the arid landscape with scatterings of trees in sandy soil did not really evoke the biblical description of a green paradise of trees laden with fruit. Although he knew that the original couple would never have stepped on this land, he allowed his fancies to continue immune to any reality check.

  Without news from Jack, David loaded his luggage into a taxi headed to a guesthouse in Windhoek, the country’s capital. When informed that the ride would be about forty kilometers, he ran his hands through his messy hair, put on his sunglasses, and leaned back in the front passenger seat of a sedan that still smelled new. He then tried to settle his thoughts in the comfortable headrest, keeping his eyes fixed on the landscape unfolding outside the speeding car. His eyes fell on the rocky and hilly horizon filled with twisted acacias and skirted by a luminous blue sky. He smiled as a group of baboons paraded on the roadside and sighed at the sight of a young woman carrying a baby on her back. There was plenty of time for a myriad of thoughts to resurface and dissipate in the immensity of the scenery.