Between

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “Show me,” said Father Martin. “Take me away from here and teach me. I promise to learn. I’ll do everything you tell me.”

  Norwen laughed. “It doesn’t work that way. Nor am I your guide. But I can tell you how to save yourself, if you are ready.”

  “Anything,” begged the monk.

  “You did not arrive into the Temple of Rest here on this plane,” Norwen said. “Because your mind was corrupt and your fear absolute, so you missed the one experience which might have helped you avoid this wretchedness. Most souls die directly into the temple and they sleep until they are ready to wake on the plane that suits them. This did not happen to you. Go there now. It has many names – hospital, palace of welcome, half-way house. You will find it quickly if you set off with intention.”

  Father Martin nodded eagerly. “A young man passed by here some days ago. He told me there was a monastery near here. I wanted to find it before but I didn’t know where to look. I’ll go there now if you tell me the way.”

  “I am not speaking of the monastery,” said Norwen. “There are many churches of varying denominations and places of prayer and worship on this plane, but none of them can help you. They all preach division and they shelter the frightened, therefore encouraging fear itself. I am speaking of the hospital which is the only true place of refuge here, into which most souls die and are then reborn onto these Summerlands, which you call Heaven. There you can sleep. During that sleep, which is far more than normal sleeping, you can dream yourself free of self-hatred. It is a sleep of pure nourishment. You can learn to forgive everyone, including yourself, so would be unlikely to return to this place afterwards. You would either move upwards onto the next plane, or stay on the third but without being trapped by the brutality and slavery here. All these choices are yours.”

  Father Martin bowed his head and sighed. “And be alone?”

  “You are never alone,” said Norwen.

  “Then who are you Lord, to tell me these things?” trembled Father Martin. They stood under the trees. A breeze shifted the canopy of golden leaf, and Norwen’s blazing aura lit the clearing as if the sun had come to rest there. Father Martin stood shivering, unable to face Norwen directly. His light was too bright. “You say you’re not an angel, and not my personal guide. But you came for me, not for the others. Am I chosen? Am I blessed, if I do what you say?”

  “You are already blessed,” said Norwen. “Every soul is sacred.”

  Father Martin shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You give me no credit for what I’ve been trying to do. You haven’t even spoken to the others, Warl and Pigseed and the gang, who are surely far more evil than I am. What I did wasn’t so terrible. My punishment is excessive. At least lead me to this hospital you speak of. Show me where it is.”

  “If you begin to walk,” said Norwen, “in any direction, but with the intention of finding help, you will find it. There are no mistakes on the Summerlands.”

  “But you could take me there,” said Father Martin. “It’s a hospital? You could tell the doctors to look after me and give me special care. If you’re no angel and not my guide, why did you come specially for me, if not to give me special care?”

  “I am a human spirit, like yourself,” smiled Norwen, “but through time I have risen higher through these planes and I now come from the ninth, whereas you reside here on the third. I entered the Summerlands directly onto the seventh a long time back. Before that I was a living child, as human as any other, and brought up in the same church you believe in yourself. I knew you. You would no longer remember my name, but we knew each other. You were my family priest.”

  Father Martin began to cry. The tears rolled like glistening dew down the lines of his face and into the tangle of his wiry white beard. He tried to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his habit, which was already badly soiled.

  “You abused me,” said Norwen softly, “as you abused my friends. There were so many of us, you will not remember me as distinct from any other. But you remember very clearly what you did.”

  Father Martin choked. The sobbing was making him nauseas. “Yes. It’s true. I knew I’d have to face my accusers one day. But it wasn’t my fault. I had such terrible urges. They came from the devil. I couldn’t control myself.”

  “As I told your companion,” Norwen continued, “it is not your actions you need to repair, but your state of mind. Your intention was to harm the children who were in your care. You abused their trust and turned the love of God into the fear of the devil. But the devil does not exist. There is no such creature, only the degeneration of the regressive spirit.”

  “You spoke of love and blessings. I truly loved all those little children,” insisted Father Martin. “I didn’t mean to harm them.”

  Norwen shook his head. “I know your mind,” he pointed out. “You knew very well the harm you did. You tried to deny it to yourself, but you knew. You raped me across the pulpit when I was eight years old. I hanged myself from the olive tree in my mother’s back yard when I was nine. The misery this brought my family followed in a direct line from your actions.”

  “It’s not fair to blame me for everything,” Father Martin had fallen to the ground and was trying to clutch at Norwen’s ankles but the light burned his hands, as it had Ayakis. “It was the terrible urges. I couldn’t help it.”

  “In fact I blame you for nothing,” nodded Norwen, reaching out to help him rise. “I blamed you when I first died, but I learned differently. Every spirit must take responsibility for the course of his own mind and the development of his intentions. You must take responsibility not for me, but for yourself. I have told you who I am only because you asked for explanations.”

  “Then you won’t help me?” faltered Father Martin. “You haven’t come to help me at all.”

  Norwen sighed. “You’re mistaken. I came with the pure intention of offering aid. My help could lead you quickly into happier circumstances if you choose to accept it.”

  “I was a tortured soul,” Father Martin insisted. “I was riddled with terrible urges, but I tried to resist them. I was tempted over and over but I tried to be good. When I realised all the little boys were impossible to resist, I left that parish. I went to work in a special hostel for women of loose morals. But they tempted me too. I was beset with wicked temptation.”

  Norwen nodded. “Indeed. You continued to rape. You abused the women you had offered to help.”

  “So I left that place too,” said the monk, becoming desperate. “I joined a monastery. I lived my last years among a few old men. You see, I went away from all the places where temptation was too strong.”

  “You left because the incriminating evidence against you was becoming impossible to avoid,” Norwen said. “You hid in the monastery. You should not lie to yourself.”

  Father Martin turned away. “You only want to see the worst in me,” he said. “You haven’t come to forgive me, only to accuse. Well, I’m sorry. Truly, I’m sorry. But you shouldn’t have come. Who are you to list my sins, when you’re a sinner yourself? Suicide is a terrible sin. You’re no better than me.”

  “My life, although I was a child, was not utterly pure,” Norwen answered gently. “But suicide is no sin in itself. The disregard of the terrible suffering such an act can cause to those left behind, is invariably deeply wrong. But it does not constitute sin in the manner you mean, and certainly does not compare with the misery you perpetuated in your long lifetime of abusing those smaller and weaker than yourself, who were placed in your care and trusted you. So, yes, I have accused you, though it was not the reason I came. I came to help, and I have offered help. If you accept it, I will come again, and offer more.”

  “All you’ve done is told me to go to hospital,” sniffed Father Martin. “You haven’t even told me where it is. You think I should go wandering off into the wilderness all alone, in the hope of stumbling across one little building in this great wide land. I might die of starvation or cold before finding anything at
all.”

  “You are being absurd,” smiled Norwen.

  “I don’t think I need a hospital,” continued the priest. “I’m not sick. I’m badly treated, that’s all. I know I was wicked, but I’ve said I’m sorry.”

  “You are sorry only for yourself,” said Norwen. “But I had little expectation of helping. I came, but I believed it unlikely that you were ready for me. However, before I go, remember this. The hospital is your ready salvation, and it is remarkably easy to find for anyone who truly looks. Have the desire to find it, and it will be there. You are already on its doorstep. Leave the gang and go out and search as soon as you tire of the problems inherent here. But don’t wait too long. The brutality of this place can be infectious.”

  “If he doesn’t want your help, then help me,” said a voice from the wandering shadows. Francesco had crawled, inch by inch, from the camp to the trees. He hoisted himself up by the lower branches, and faced Norwen as well as he could. “Dear Lord,” he said, his breath caught in his throat. “I’m more desperate than any. For the life of me, I have no idea why I’m trapped here. What have I done? Why am I punished? What must I do?”

  Norwen paused, reading his mind. “You should not be here,” he answered. “This is not your rightful plane. You cannot breathe, because your natural vibrations are too quick for the third. You should be on the fourth. Indeed, perhaps on the fifth. You are suffocating.”

  “Then I beg you, help me,” wailed Francesco while Father Martin stood aside, glaring. “Am I still bitter because I was murdered? Perhaps I am. I hate the vile creature who killed me so unjustly. You said that hatred is the worst crime. Am I such a criminal then, that I need stay in this terrifying place?”

  “Forgive first Ayakis, and then yourself,” said Norwen. “Your bitterness and anger have tied you to the man who murdered you. He is here on his rightful plane, and chaining yourself to him has kept you alongside, where you should not rightfully be. Free yourself from all your feelings towards him. Then walk towards the rising sun and you will find the hospital. It is a great white building that reflects the countryside and the sky, and it welcomes all the dead who come here. There you can sleep for as long as you need to recuperate. When you wake, you will find yourself on whatever plane you should properly stay. It will not be here. You will have freed yourself from Ayakis, from fury, from fear and from hatred.”

  “I will,” said Francesco, staggering and gasping for breath. “I’ll go now. Which way does the sun rise?”

  “As soon as your intention is ready,” said Norwen, “you will see the sun rise directly before you.”

  “Yes,” said Francesco. “I understand that. So I’ll go now. If I don’t make it, I’ll keep trying until I do. Thank you. Bless you. I know you didn’t come for me, but you’ve made everything clear.”

  “Then you were ready,” smiled Norwen. “When any man is ready, his teacher will come. I am not your personal guide, but no doubt he will find you while you sleep in the halfway-house.”

  Francesco turned abruptly and began to make his way back through the trees. He stood straighter and held his shoulders back. His breathing was strained, but he no longer choked. He disappeared into the long shadows.

  Father Martin sniffed. “So much for your help,” he said miserably. “The sun isn’t rising over there at all.”

  “It is for those who can see it,” said Norwen.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “You’re sending me back then,” said Primo, “to face her and tell her. That’s it, isn’t it? I murdered the fucking old woman and she’s forgotten all about it, so I have to go and remind her and admit it and ask forgiveness. And you think she’ll pat me on the fucking head and say there, there, dear, never mind. I don’t care if you strangled me and broke my scrawny old neck and strung me up in a barn to die while you sat on the straw and ate my fucking sandwiches and watched me shit myself. I forgive you. Forgive me? Like fuck! She’ll scream her bloody head off and claw my eyes out. You don’t know Daisy.”

  “True. I’ve never had that pleasure,” said the young punk rocker, scratching the itch around his nipple rings. “However, my meagre ignorance concerning your late lover has nothing to do with this exercise. Besides, none of the things you’ve envisaged will happen.”

  “Fucking come with me then,” said Primo. “And fucking see.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” agreed Wilmot. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Are you ready? Or do you intend to prevaricate a little longer?”

  Primo promptly changed his mind. “You can’t come. If I’ve got to face Daisy, then I’d better do it alone. I deserve whatever she does to me, so fair enough. But how the fuck would I explain who you are, for a start? If I tell her I’ve got this warped guide who dresses up as fucking Christmas trees, she’ll laugh me off the mountain before I can even hope to beg forgiveness.”

  Wilmot smiled gently. “Explain me as you like, dear boy. Since my favoured disguise ensures that I don’t glow my bloody head off, I’m unlikely to upset any of your prejudiced little playmates.”

  “So why can’t you just look like who you actually are?” demanded Primo. “Why the make-believe? Fuck, I don’t even know what you really do look like.”

  “Looking like an exploding firework has its uses under certain circumstances,” said Wilmot, “but a ninth plane light tends to frighten the plebs. The lower planes get scared shitless, or just offended. There’s this wild prejudice against do-gooders amongst those who desperately need a little do-gooding. Makes them feel almost as inferior as they are, no doubt. Something you might possibly empathise with. Anyway, that’s the main reason I use dress-ups, just to douse the aura. I also happen to enjoy it. You think we shouldn’t have fun once we get to the ninth plane? Dragging around lecturing the dull and ignorant such as yourself, would be most unrewarding otherwise.”

  “Piss off,” said Primo.

  “Let us piss off together,” smiled Wilmot cheerfully. “I suggest we fly direct, accompanied by your eagle. She seems distinctly impatient.”

  The harpy was sitting on the roof above them, ruffling her primaries. Her golden stare was accusatory. Aware that flight was imminent and instinctively understanding the need to travel, she had already been waiting too long.

  The air felt colder than usual so Primo knew he was depressed. The harpy moved close, stretching her vast wingspread beneath as if to support him. Her utter loyalty warmed him. “I really don’t want to do this,” said Primo. “But I suppose I have to. You probably know best.”

  “Indubitably,” said Wilmot. “As always.”

  “Of course,” said Primo, gulping in the cold cloud, “if your silly costumes are only in my mind, Daisy’s going to see something different. So who the fuck do I say you are?”

  “It is what you say about yourself that matters, not what you say about me,” said Wilmot, executing a neat dive. “But your lady friend will see me exactly as you do, which will be less confusing for everyone. However,” he hovered a moment, looking down, “I intend to stop first in the valley at the mountain’s foot. There’s something else I want to say to you, and it needs to be private. It will make a difference. The choice to go on will then be yours.”

  Already the mountain rose up before them, a series of wild dark crags, damp trickling with the ooze of a hundred waterfalls and clinging damp moss in a thousand shades of emerald. The music of the mountain was spinning with the dancing water drops. Although the fogbanks to the third plane were across the other side of the peaks, here the sheer rock wall was barely visible through the silver haze of spray and song.

  Primo frowned, turning away. “You’ve been talking to me for the past day and a half. I’ve confessed everything, non-stop. Fuck me, what more do you want? I’ve said out loud all the filthy, wretched things I remember doing. I’ve opened my head to you and shouted every putrid detail so you know all the slimy, disgusting facts already. I’ve cried on your fucking shoulder, for God’s sake. I don’t even have the faintest idea why yo
u still want anything to do with me, but since you do, I’ve nothing more to give. I’ll kiss your feet if you want, fuck, I’ll kiss your arse, but all my pissing vile memories are done with. Alright, I was a shit foul prick and I hate what I was and what I did but I can’t undo anything until I get born again. So what now?”

  “That,” said Wilmot, “is what you’re about to discover.”

  There were rainbows in great arches above the theatre. Georgia sat beside her father, listening to the magnificence of the concert. The music thundered with awe and with inspiration. Her father was lost in the thrill of it, his eyes closed. Georgia kept her eyes open, watching the eclipses of the rainbows above. They were musical fountains, the other side of creation, tune into vision.

  Somehow it did not interrupt the orchestra when Norwen spoke directly and silently into her mind. It did not interrupt her concentration, and seemed even to enhance it. “I have returned from the lower planes,” said Norwen. “I am still physical enough to enjoy the return to the faster, more loving vibrations. So I will be with you, and enjoy your first concert through your ears.”

  “Thank you for telling me about this theatre,” Georgia enthused. “It’s glorious and wonderful and incredible and absolutely enthralling. And somehow, just sitting here listening to music, I seem to be learning something. I know things I didn’t know before. It’s all jumbled up in the melody.”

  “When you are ready to know something, there are many avenues to learning,” said Norwen. “As I have already told you, you yourself are one of mine. I have missed you.”

  “That’s amazing,” said Georgia, startled into actual voice, which her father took as a passing reference to the beauty they heard, even though in fact it was an answer to Norwen’s silent remarks.

  Georgia understood, simply because Norwen had previously explained the laws of attraction in some detail, that as her guide, he must hold certain qualities of character and personality that united them, partially in similarity and partially of contrast. At the time of the explanation, she had replied with a typically physical reaction. “So if we’d met while we were both alive, maybe we’d have been brothers. Or lovers.” And Norwen had laughed and said perhaps. “But in life, what brings people together isn’t merely a simple attraction,” he’d continued. “We meet and partner those who mirror the lessons we need in that lifetime, we hate in others what we already loathe, but do not necessarily recognise, in ourselves. The motivations for earthly events are always complex and refer more to need than to pleasure. Hopefully, as we grow, the two become synonymous.” “Well, that’s the way everything happens now,” Georgia had replied. “I’m being allowed the most glorious experiences, and they’re all good for me. But then of course, it’s a whole lot easier once you’re dead.”