by Des Sheridan
‘Thank you, Malachy, for being here. But I don’t understand what you are saying and you mustn’t put your faith in me. I am really quite a mess and don’t know where I stand on religion. I am sort of half in while at the same time heading rapidly for the exit.’
He laughed at this, then led her to a small door and opened it. Inside was a well-equipped modern kitchen facility, beyond which lay a large refectory area. Approaching the hob, he warmed up some soup for her and served it with a baguette. It was home-made vegetable soup and tasted really nourishing after her long journey. Tara consumed it with gusto and felt herself revive.
They chatted a little as she ate but, when she was finished, Malachy reverted to his earlier, highly-focussed, mode of speech
‘Tara, I have arranged a small ceremony with some of the monks. It will ready you for what is to come. I know it is late and you would prefer to rest, but time is short. You will find it a little unorthodox but will you humour me and my friends and join us a while?’
Tara looked about her, at the empty refectory. ‘Malachy, is this activity authorised? Do the powers that be know about me?’
‘Tara,’ he replied impatiently. ‘This is about prayer and grace not church hierarchies. You don’t need to worry about that’.
That told her that whatever he had organised wasn’t official. She looked at him closely. She had trusted this friend for so long, since she was a child in fact although she couldn’t recall for the life of her when they had first met. Malachy, it seemed, had always been there.
‘Malachy, I called you, remember? So yes, I will trust you. A little prayer can’t do any harm. And, let’s face it I need all the help I can get from whatever quarter, however disembodied.’
At that laconic observation their glances locked and both of them started to laugh.
Chapter 29
Buedon, France, 26 October 2014, 13:27
Returning from the swimming pool, Robert and the others found Janet busy in the kitchen. She looked up, smiled, and said inquiringly,
‘Have you lost Tara then?’
In an instant Robert knew, the realisation cutting through him like knife. Tara was not there! He spun on his heels and raced around the house, calling her name, the others following in his wake. They searched high and low, inside, upstairs, in the yurt, in the barn, in the orchard – everywhere! But found nothing. Then Nico reappeared.
‘Robert, my car – it’s gone!’
‘Maybe she has gone into town,’ offered Pip hopefully. The others looked at him blankly. Somehow they sensed Tara had not gone shopping.
‘But where would she go, Robert?’ Janet asked anxiously, her brow creased in worry.
Robert responded slowly.
‘Something must have happened. She has gone because something has happened. Someone must have contacted her.’
He was silent a moment, thinking.
‘OK, OK, let’s search again, but this time look for clues – what has she taken? Is her phone about? Janet, can you check the landline log?’
They set about their tasks, urgency spurring their steps, while Robert hurried back to the yurt. Almost immediately, he found the note. It lay on the pillowcase on his side of the bed. He hadn’t spotted it the first time because he had been looking for her, nothing else. Sitting down on the edge of the bed he tore open the envelope and read it. He could hear her voice, echoing around his head, speaking the words he didn’t want to hear.
Robert. I have to try and save Aoife. In a way I am responsible for all this and I have a chance to rescue her. I must do this and do it alone. Forgive me please. Tara xx.
He put his hands through his hair, gripping the strands, staring in disbelief. He couldn’t credit the words. Then he smashed his fist on the bedside table, knocking the objects on it flying, cursing. It had never occurred to him, that she would fly solo. They had been operating as a team for over a month. He had assumed that if there was any contact she would tell him. Of course she would! Then the truth hit him full blast. She had been withdrawn the last few days. That silence gave her the cover not to speak and he had accepted the situation. He had withdrawn also because it felt uncomfortable. He was a fool! He should have read the situation for what it was, been watchful and stayed close to her. Instead he had busied himself in the physical distraction of building the pool. He had thought he was giving her space. Instead he had allowed her to become insular and now she was gone! He felt shaken to his foundations. He had never anticipated anything like this. He adored her and took her presence for granted. Now she was gone. Like a bird from the nest, without trace.
Chapter 30
Taizé, France, 26 October 2014, 22:19
The blackness in the chapel took Tara by surprise. She had expected it to be full of light but mostly it was dimly-lit or in deep shadow. Like any large dark space it had an uncomfortable feeling about it as though it might swallow you up.
However, at the far end an altar was thrown into relief under a blaze of arrayed candles. Three large candles, each taller than a person, were especially prominent and illuminated swathes of orange-coloured banners streamed down from the ceiling.
A tall wooden cross, featuring the crucified Christ, was painted flat like a Greek icon and hung suspended from the ceiling. The altar, she could now see, formed the focal point of a spacious modernist building with rows of wooden seats and wide aisles.
As they advanced up the central aisle the singing of a small cluster of monks, seated some distance to the right, caught her attention. Their chanting rose and fell, draped upon simple repetitive melodic lines, and cast a spell, simultaneously reassuring and hypnotic. Tara felt immediately uplifted by it.
Close by the altar sat a man in a flowing white habit. He rose to greet his visitors. Tall and thin, he was well over six feet in height. His shaven head shone like a brown polished surface in the candlelight, but it was his extraordinary visage that captured Tara’s attention. The tanned face was bony and wizened from age, with wrinkles on his forehead and crows nests about his eyes. The latter, coloured light blue like a tropical sea, seemed to suffuse his face in joy and his smiling mouth, with its brilliant white teeth, completed the picture. Tara estimated that he couldn’t be a day under seventy.
Michael made the introduction. ‘Tara, this is Brother Remy, who will be our companion tonight.’
Remy took her hand in his and motioned her to sit down on one of the white marble stools about them. He conversed with her about her predicament, conveying great understanding with just a few empathetic words and phrases. So cruel, such wicked men, poor child. He spoke quietly in excellent English with a French accent. Concern and a desire to help radiated from him, his hands moving expressively all the time, opening and closing and turning. After a few minutes he invited Tara to kneel and undergo the sacrament of reconciliation.
‘Oh my God,’ said Tara. ‘It is so long ago, maybe fifteen years. I am terribly sorry but I can’t remember how to make an Act of Confession.’
To her surprise Brother Remy seemed amused by this and laughed quietly.
‘Don’t worry, Tara. God is very patient and has a great memory. Just let me talk you through it.’
So Tara made her confession hesitantly, and when she started, like a child to recount minor failings, Remy corrected her gently.
‘Tara, tonight just concentrate on the big things that separate you from God. Just talk to him in your own words and explain what you need him to do.’
So she did. The words just spilled out. She recounted her confusion with her old life, her joy at discovering how to love again with Aoife and Robert and her anguish over the violence that was circling and entrapping her at every turn. And she spoke of her need for God’s help in confronting Pascal and saving her niece.
When she finished Brother Remy prayed for her aloud. He invited God to come to her aid in the battles ahead and, should she flag, to step in and fight beside her. Then he forgave her sins and offered her Communion, taking the
host from a little silver holder that he carried with him. She felt the years of distance fall away and a calm feeling, which she had last experienced as a child receiving the Sacrament, came over her. She recognised the sign of the Spirit arriving within her. And she realised that it had always been inside her - she had simply been ignoring it for a very long time.
Chapter 31
Buedon, France, 26 October 2014, 17:53
‘Are you planning to do something constructive at some point today?’
Nico was looming over the lounge sofa where Robert’s reclining, dishevelled body was curled up. A half empty bottle of whisky and an overturned tumbler lay on the rug nearby. Nico realised that he must have started drinking at lunchtime. His deliberately harsh interjection disturbed Robert’s post-alcoholic slumber, and he turned and pulled himself up into sitting position, rubbing his eyes and looking the worse for wear.
‘What?’
‘I ask if you are planning to have shower at some point. You stink, you know. I am not sure our hosts welcome guests crashing out in the living room in the middle of the day. Are you going to speak?’
Robert paused before replying grumpily, ‘What is there to say?’
‘Well that’s great, Roberto. Are you just going to wallow in self-pity? And get pissed? No saying Hey Nico, why don’t we run a trace on her mobile calls? ’
‘Yes, you’re right. It’s a good idea, I ...’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake. I did it hours ago. Madre di Dio. Just snap out of it, Roberto. I can’t stand seeing you like this.’
At this Robert exploded. Leaping to his feet he grabbed Nico by the lapels and slammed him against the wall.
‘This is no time to pick on me! What the hell do you want me to do? Initiate a search of all fucking France? Yeah, Nico let’s do that! She has chosen to do this! The stupid bloody fool! Why didn’t she speak to me? She is as good as fucking dead. And by tomorrow she probably will be. You know that, so do I! Drinking seems a pretty good option to me.’
Nico, engulfed by whisky fumes and pinioned against the wall, raised his hands with open palms, not attempting to resist.
‘Whoa, Roberto, stop! It’s just me.’
Robert slammed his hands down and turned away. But Nico was pleased. His goading had been deliberately aimed at puncturing Robert’s silence. Anger was a lot more useful emotion than despondency at this juncture.
‘Where could we start, Nico? It’s so fucking hopeless! Don’t pretend to me that it isn’t!’
‘Where we always start when it’s hopeless: with cold logic,’ came the reply, followed by Nico’s hand firmly on his shoulder. ‘Go shower, Robert. Then we have work to do. I will put some strong coffee on.’
Thirty minutes later a cleansed and chastened Robert, togged out in fresh clothes, but with his hair still wet, sat down at the kitchen table. He looked half decent. Nico led the analytical process.
‘Her mobile phone records may tell us something, because my guess is that she received a call. I will also check with everyone in Ireland a bit later. They may know something. I’m sure she didn’t tell us because she was told not to. It all fits – it has to be Pascal. Tomorrow I will set three people chasing his movements. So far it has been a dead end but we haven’t tried locating more general associates. You know, family, girlfriends, and chauffeurs - that sort of thing. They will lead us to him inevitably. Also I think we need to consider involving the police.’
‘No!’ protested Robert. ‘Not the police. Pascal infiltrated them in Ireland. They helped him kill Shay! It’s too risky.’
‘That’s as may be Robert, but the stakes are a lot higher now. I don’t agree with you. We need help, Robert. Think again, for God’s sake.’
Robert looked at him, his mouth twisting with uncertainty.
‘Well...maybe, but you must give me time to think this through. We don’t know whether Tara is going straight to Pascal at all. I mean, why should she? It is a death trap!’
Nico was silent for a while, before quietly saying,
‘Because she has no choice. He has Aoife. She has the Spanish Triskell so a trade is possible in her mind. So yes, I think she has gone to him and she has some plan in mind. That is why she took my gun – her Plan A. But I must be honest – I think she has a Plan B too as well. I’m sorry to say it because I know you won’t like it. She is hopelessly inexperienced when it comes to surviving in life or death circumstances. But she is very intelligent so she knows that. So I think that...,’ he paused, ‘...I think she has decided it is preferable to die with Aoife, rather than let Aoife die alone.’
Robert looked up aghast at his friend who had voiced this terrible thought. Nico wondered guiltily if he should have put it so bluntly. The desolation he saw in his English friend’s eyes was harrowing but not unique. Nico had seen it there once before, after Sarah’s death in 2004. He felt a surge of compassion for his friend. No man should experience this twice in a lifetime, he thought. But then life sometimes wasn’t fair – it wasn’t fair at all.
Chapter 32
Taizé, France, 26 October 2014, 23:16
Tara had expected a simple blessing to conclude the proceedings, but instead the monks from the body of the church moved up and formed a circle about her. Tara realised that two of them were in fact women, nuns she supposed. They placed three candles at intervals around the circle then doused the remainder so that darkness all but enveloped them. Malachy unfolded the Triskell pieces – the ones from Rosnaree and Santiago - and placed them by Tara’s feet. As the monks began their chanting, Brother Remy asked Tara to kneel, and spoke these words urgently in the darkness.
‘Tara, try and clear your mind of all thought other than your love for God. Send that love upwards to him repeatedly. Bursts of love, like rays of light from the candles shooting upwards, piercing the darkness. Pierce the void with your love, your praise for His great glory!’
Then Remy began to pray in a lowered voice, the words tumbling out at a rapid and incessant pace, so fast that they soon made little sense and became, to Tara’s ear, like gibberish or a foreign language. She recognised this must be what people called talking in tongues. Tara knelt passively, at first nonplussed by the proceedings and feeling unconnected to it. Then gradually she found her focus. She thought of all the moments of love in her life and offered them up to God, praising Him, and asking Him to take them back for they came from Him and belonged to Him. This mantra seemed to work as she felt an aura of love crystallise and encircle her.
She was surprised when Malachy placed his right hand upon her head and rested it there. The two nuns came and flanked him. Gradually his palm became heavier and seemed to push in on her skull. It became warmer, too, as though it would scorch her hair. She thought her head would split open, or even melt, under the pressure but instead a pulsation, originating from his hand, seemed to take over. It felt as though she was being electrocuted, as a vast charge of pulsating energy surged through her. Any second she expected to be hurled from the chair by the force and thrown against the chapel wall. When that didn’t happen, she became aware that she was a conductor for this energy. When she closed her eyes it seemed to pulsate around her in jagged concentric waves that mirrored her body shape. They were brightly coloured, similar to those she had dreamt about the Tomb, and she recalled the artefacts that Malachy had placed in the circle. Opening her eyes she saw that the Triskell pieces were glowing in the gloom, a faint golden sheen lighting the space.
Tara in the same instant sensed something was out there, in the darkness, an unnamed presence that was greater than anything she had ever known. Its advent frightened her and she was grateful that she could not see it. As she closed her eyes the energy surge resumed and she tensed, expecting again for it to eject her violently from her seat. But that did not happen. After a time, the sensation began to wane, the chanting became louder again and normality returned. The ceremony was coming to an end.
Some minutes later Tara unsteadily got up and, wit
h Malachy’s support, made her way back down the aisle. She whispered to him,
‘Malachy, what happened back there?’
‘Tonight the sacrament of Reconciliation restored you to a state of grace and then the Eucharist filled you with the Holy Spirit. Remy is a great healer, both of physical sickness and spiritual malaise and he then invited God to visit you in another way, through my laying of hands upon you. It was a ceremony aimed at charging your spiritual batteries to a maximum, as it were.’
Tara said nothing for a few moments, lost for words.
Eventually Malachy prompted her by asking, ‘Tell me what you felt.’
Although it sounded like a question, it felt more like an order. And in his tone she sensed something more, almost a desperation, as though Malachy couldn’t experience the feeling himself. But this intuition made no sense at all. Why wouldn’t he experience it? He was the conduit after all. She put aside this thought as the figment of an over-tired imagination and focussed on her reply.
‘I felt an extraordinary energy transmitting through me. I can hardly describe it. But one thing puzzled me. After Communion I felt filled with the joy of the Holy Spirit. But the energy – I am not sure about that. It was immensely powerful but I couldn’t sense its character: by that I mean whether it was good or evil. I wasn’t sure and that worries me. And, to be honest, I was afraid of it. Maybe the fact that I feared it to be evil reflects a flaw in me. That I am, you know, somehow damaged goods?’
Malachy must have registered the concern in her voice for he took her hands in his. Looking into his eyes she saw anxiety and doubt there. And somehow beneath the healthy tan she saw an older Malachy, a much older face. His eyes seemed fathomless. They were at the door to the chapel now and glancing outside, she noted that the rain had ceased. Malachy ignored this, his eyes drawing her gaze back to him.