by Paul Kelly
“What a funny sight you are,” said Fern.
“And showing all your manhood,” added Shona, who had suddenly come into the hall, laughing ... and with a chocolate bar she refereed the fight with satisfaction, before she threw her arms around Fern and greeted him warmly. Shona had known Fern all her life and they had gone to school together but she was a year older than he and had gone on to University to study Law. Rose and Tom were proud of their daughter, and they loved Fern as if he was their own son.
“Fern,” said Shona looking at him affectionately, “It’s lovely to see you again, how are you?”
Fern smiled and returned the embrace.
“I’m fine, Shona, just fine. I hope you are well.”
The conversation that followed was about past times in the village and of life at University, until Tom presented himself and made no secret of his affection for Fern, as well as his daughter, as he threw himself towards the two young people, bunching them in his strong hairy arms.
“I’m glad you called around Fern,” he called out, “I have some news from London and they seem very impressed with the tapes we sent. Come into the garden while I get the letter and we will discuss it. Do you want to come Shona?”
“If this is going to be all man’s talk’ then I’m off to help mum with the tea,” Shona joked, but she would have preferred to have had more time with Fern, who excused himself from the company and followed Tom into his ‘office’ ... a converted tool shed at the bottom of the garden. Tom Mahon conducted all of his musical business from this venue and the letter he showed his young visitor seemed to anticipate that Fern would present himself for audition on the following Friday, and he was overjoyed at the prospects, although a little nervous.
“That only gives us a few more days, Fern. No time to answer this, is there?” Tom joked as he shrugged his shoulders, with the knowledge that he always presumed that ‘they’ could ‘do it’. Fern would be the one to sing, but Tom always used the plural when talking of Fern’s achievements.
“There’s one other thing, Fern. I have some music I would like you to see,” he added as he waded through a pile of paperwork on his desk. “It was here yesterday . . . Whatever have I done with it. Ah yes, here it is.”
The music was on top of the pile of papers and he handed it to the boy. There was to be a wedding at Garasaig Village, and the young couple had enquired of Tom if Fern would be able to sing for them on that occasion.
“I don’t know anyone in Garasaig,” Fern protested as he took the music from his choirmaster and ran his eyes over the first few notes.
“No, I know you don’t, but I have told them all about you ... now look at the music.”
“This is not English, Tom. How can I sing this?”
“You know the music of the Ave Maria, don’t you? It’s in Latin, but it’s one of Schubert’s greatest works. All singers worth their salt know the Ave Maria, Fern. You must have heard it sung many times and you can learn it easily enough.”
“Yes, of course I have heard it… but,” “But what,” Tom interrupted.
“It is not my usual kind of music, Tom, you know that,” argued Fern, but Tom appeared to be getting annoyed. He had made the promise that Fern would sing and he would not give up easily.
“Scottish ballads or this kind of thing… You’ll do fine. Now tuck the music under your arm and we’ll go in and have some tea,” he announced with his usual air of authority but as they walked to the house together, Tom was aware of his shortcomings and knew how conscientious Fern was about anything that was proposed to further his singing career.
“I’m sorry of I have been sharp with you, Fern. I just want everyone to know what a fine voice you have,” he said and Fern smiled. He knew he should never distrust this man who had put him on such a pedestal.
“Don’t forget FRIDAY.”
“When is the wedding?” Fern enquired.
“Oh that is in three weeks’ time. You have plenty of time to rehearse,”
Tom reassured as he raised his eyebrows again complacently and the chatter during the tea was mostly about music and singing and how one could get to the top if one tried hard enough but Shona kept looking at Fern. She had always admired him; looked up to him, although he was younger than she. She studied his hairline, so fair and so clean. She loved his eyes surrounded by those contradictory dark sweeping lashes that accentuated the boyish charm as he spoke. Yet, with all this, Shona could perceive, boy or man that she was irresistibly drawn to him. Even more so as he grew from boyhood into manhood and in that moment of reflection, she suddenly realized that she was becoming rather shy of Fernando Miguel Alphonso Zambrano, for the first time in her life and this awesome shyness was a wonder to her as gently she sipped her tea.
***
‘Ave Maria, gratia plena ... ‘ It didn’t mean much to Fern. He knew he would be better off understanding the words if he was to bring anything to the music and he decided to call on Peter. He was a Catholic; a priest and a master of the Latin language; he would understand and help him. He felt confident about that.
***
The young priest was preparing to say Mass when Fern called at the Presbytery and the housekeeper ushered him into a large waiting room, which seemed to be a library from the number of books that were shelved around the walls. Fern gazed at all this ‘learning’ with wide eyes as he took one of the books from a shelf. ‘Christianity in Russia’ ...but he replaced it immediately. Graham Greene’s ‘Brighton Rock’ was the next find and he was about to open it, when the housekeeper returned.
“Father Spinelli is just about to say Mass and asks if you would be kind enough to call back in an hour?”
“Thank you. I will do that.”
Fern left the Presbytery and glanced at the lighted church as he passed. It looked warm and inviting in the cold of the morning and he had no particular engagement for the next few hours. He went into the church. There were quite a few people at the service, some of whom he knew, as he took a seat at the back where he could see without being seen, placing himself near a heavy stone pillar where he could dodge if need be. A bell tolled and two little boys appeared from an arched doorway followed by Peter, but Fern hardly recognised his friend at first glance, even if the walk was unmistakable. He looked cleaner than clean in his vestments as he walked towards the altar and put something on the table that looked like a silver cup after Peter removed a white transparent veil that was covering it, before he kissed the altar table and turned round to face the gathering. Fern dodged behind the protective pillar, hoping he hadn’t been seen, but the priest walked across the sanctuary, crossed himself and moved down a few steps before he turned again to the altar. Fern couldn’t understand a word that was being said, but the two small boys seemed to be coping very well. They answered everything the priest said and there was a lot of turning around and kneeling and a general atmosphere of peace that attracted Fern very much.
“Ecce Agnus Dei, qui tollit peccata mundi.”
The faithful were leaving their seats and going up to the altar. Fern sat motionless, observing that the people were very reverent and moved about the church quietly, returning to their seats to continue their prayers. He could not see very well from where he was positioned but he gathered that the congregation had been receiving communion from Peter and after a little while had past, Peter made a large sign of the cross over the congregation and they all stood up.
“Benedicat vos et maneat semper ... Pater et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus” Peter paused and said “Amen”. The people answered “Amen” after him, and the two little boys returned to the arched doorway followed by Peter. Fern looked at his watch. The whole service had taken forty minutes, so he decided to wait a little longer before going into the Presbytery again.
***
Peter appeared in the library in a long black cassock where a little cape a
round his shoulders bounced as he walked.
“Fern, how nice to see you again…what brings you here so early in the morning?” He asked as he saw Fern sitting restlessly in a corner of the large room. “Now before you say anything,” he continued, “I’m going to have breakfast, will you join me?”
Fern was more than surprised at the different attitude and mannerism of Peter to the priest he had seen only a short time ago saying his Mass, however he followed him into the breakfast room and the housekeeper laid another place at the table where both men ate heartily… Fern was perplexed at how jovial Peter appeared after having seen such a solemn personage on the altar.
“I’ve come to see you Peter, hoping you will be able to help me with some Latin translation of a piece of music I have been asked to sing at a wedding,” he said at last as he sipped his hot coffee and Peter grunted amiably. He was pleased to see the boy with whatever excuse he had to come.
“At your service, Sir,” he laughed and then he smiled broadly, when he saw the music.
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” he said as he stopped and looked at Fern, as he repeated the words in Latin and described the pronunciation to his young companion. Fern followed each mouth movement carefully.
“I have heard it sung before, Peter, but I never thought I would have to sing it myself.”
“That’s understandable, but I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Peter added.
“Look! I have a better idea. Come into the church for a moment and I’ll run it through on the organ. I’m a bit rusty, but I think I’ll manage.”
Fern followed the priest, phrasing the words as he went, like an experienced Latin scholar and Peter smiled.
“You MUST have sung this before Fern, surely…?” Peter spoke as he began to warm up on the old organ keys, opening the first bars to the hymn and taking time to ensure that Fern was following, so that he would have no difficulty in reading the lines. The boy took his cue from the priest as he started to sing.
‘Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus.’
Peter found it difficult to continue playing. He glanced at Fern to see that he had his eyes closed as he sang, glimpsing only shortly at the music, but the voice that Peter was hearing was something that he had never expected. The boy had told him that he wanted to sing, but Peterhad never, in his wildest moments imagined a voice like this. The smooth pronunciation and the culture of movement were indescribable.
The young tenor strains were pure and strong. There was no faltering in this voice. Peter struggled to continue playing against his natural inclination to stop and listen, but he went on, nervously shooting glances towards the ‘voice’ but it remained as before. Fern sang with the confidence and assurance of one twice his age. He looked momentarily at the music from time to time and the empty little church became the proud possessor of the prodigy that Peter believed was truly from God.
‘Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae, Amen ... Amen.’
Peter sat still at the organ resting his fingers on the silent keys as Fern looked at him in silence. His hair had fallen over his forehead and he nervously flicked it back in place with a sudden jerk of his head and his eyes shone as he rubbed his forefinger over his upper lip.
The priest turned slowly to Fern, but his eyes no longer saw the boy who until only a short time before had been his breakfast companion.
The position of the stature was reversed and Peter saw before him, not a boy, awkward and fumbling as he noisily sipped his coffee and crunched his toast as if there was no tomorrow, but a young man, beautiful and serene, almost angelic, commanding total respect even from the silence that surrounded them. The priest was lost for words and wanted only to capture this moment of magic so that he would never lose it again. This youth epitomised such beauty and innocence in his very being …and this entire ‘new image’ because of his voice. Peter stared at him. A new Fern had introduced himself to him and it was quite some time before he found the words he wanted to say.
“Where were you trained to sing like that, Fern?” he asked quietly and Fern looked down at his hands.
“Here in Bolarne. Mr. Mahon is instructing me,” he said quite simply and the duo looked long at each other ... in silence.
Father Peter sat alone in the lounge of the Presbytery, after Fern had left. He was disturbed. Fern’s voice would not leave him, having penetrated his deepest, most innermost feelings. He had heard tales of this sort of phenomena before; of prodigies and talents that were truly unique and remarkable, but this boy was right here under his very roof ... well, not quite so literally, (he corrected his thoughts,) but Fern had affected his life. He heard the voice repeatedly within himself, and although it disturbed him, he did not want to lose a moment of his memory. He went upstairs to his bedroom and paced the floor, still perplexed, but by this time, more happily disturbed. He smiled and crossed himself.
‘Deo Gratias’ he murmured softly, “Et benedictus fructus ventris tui
Chapter Four
FERN WALKED ALONG THE FOOTPATH by the field, which led to the forest where he mounted the old creaky gate and landed heavily on the other side. The heather was magnificent and multi-coloured as it swayed and scowled to the darkened clouds which threw shadows of fear across the timid skies as the trees chattered without concern in a conversion of their own. Fern loved this scene. It amused him greatly.
“I wish I could paint,” he thought as he cried aloud. “A camera could never really capture the depth of this situation.”
He took a Mars bar from his jacket pocket as he approached the forest and lopped it in half with a single bite. The sky above was overcast, but it was summer and the time of year that he enjoyed most. He could walk for as long as he wished and sing in the sanctuary of the forest, till his heart’s content. No one was around to object to the sound of his strains and the air was conducive to the Scottish ballads that he loved so much.
‘If she should fall to earth from high; sway in the air …
And should she prick her eye on thorn, or bruise her breast on brittle corn, Wee birdie, blind to meet the dawn Then LOVE has looked away. . .
No audience was more responsive or appreciative than the animals of the forest or the birds of the air that would seemingly appear from nowhere to investigate the intruder of their silent world.
‘Wee birdie, blind to meet the dawn, Then LOVE has looked away.’
“Hello there.”
Fern turned to see Shona coming towards him. He blushed scarlet and he knew it.
“Hello,” he called half-heartedly as he had anticipated an afternoon on his own.
“Can I walk with you?” she enquired.
Fern hesitated before he could answer.
“Yes, if you wish,” he said, still looking at the ground as Shona stretched her arms above her head.
“I think it is quite lovely here. I could stay forever,” she purred sweetly and he clutched the music he was carrying, hoping that she had not seen it.
“You would never get through your studies here in this lazy neck of the woods, would you?” he said, knowing the inadequacy of his words, but she threw her hair back from her neck.
“Sometimes I wish I could give it all up, and never have anything to do with Law, ever again.”
“You say that now, but I know that you feel differently when you are actually studying,” he concluded, but Shona did not seem to hear his last remark.
“What will you do when you have finished school, Fern?” she asked and there was a concern in her face that showed more than a simple friendship.
Fern pondered.
“I don’t really quite know,” he answered, seemingly without concern ... “I have a few thoughts on the matter, but it is difficult. No, I don’t know.”
“Will you get married?” She asked pointedly and he stared at her with alarm.
What a stupid question to ask, he thought at that moment. How could I possibly know what I’ll do when obviously I would be much older, he thought further…
“I have never thought about that,” he said, but Shona would not leave the subject.
“There are quite a few girls from the village who would be happy if you asked them,” she went on.” and Fern looked at her blankly.
“Ask them what…”
She giggled and made a twirl.
“To marry you, of course, silly,” she said softly and played with her ear ring as she spoke, but her eyes never left Fern.
“Perhaps there would be quite a few who would be unhappy if I asked them also,” he added, hating himself for subscribing to this ridiculous conversation, but Shona continued to twirl.
“You are too modest Fernando,” she giggled nervously, calling him by his full Christian name. “I think I would like to get married when I finish my studies. I am not sure that I approve of women who make a career and don’t get married and don’t have children,” she called out aloud and looked at him with wide eyes as she continued. “Would you like to have children ... one day?” she asked as she raised her arm to shade her eyes from the sun and Fern tightened his lips as his eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead.
“Oh! God, she won’t leave it, will she?” he muttered under his breath and Shona smiled expectantly, without having heard his low response.
“What was that you said, Fern?”
“Nothing, Shona ... I think it is time I was getting home now.”
They walked together through the forest and out into the field of yellow corn in silence, but Shona sighed contentedly and slipped her fingers into Fern’s hand as she walked. Dutifully, he allowed her this movement, but he was disturbed. Life was moving too fast, he thought and then he remembered the days they had spent at school together but things were very different then. There was no thought of MARRIAGE.