by Simon Parke
There was silence on the other end of the phone until Bishop Stephen continued.
‘I’m sorry you were never able to warm to Abbot Peter, Sally. He was nothing to do with me, not my choice. He just arrived in Stormhaven in his ridiculous clothes and somehow stayed.’
‘Abbot Peter’s fine.’
‘You don’t need to continue with the pretence. Margaret’s analysis, should you be interested, is that he was impermeable to your charms, too independent for you and then when he was made Special Witness - .’
‘It was a ridiculous appointment!’
‘It should have been you?’
‘It shouldn’t have been him!’
The aggression shocked the Bishop. Sally excused herself, put down the phone on the Bishop and wept.
Eighty Three
‘I’m sorry about the jigsaw, Uncle.’
They were standing by Tamsin’s car. She was packed and ready to go but leaving new bed linen as a present.
‘That’s very big of you,’ said Abbot Peter, ‘but as I’ve said, it was you and the jigsaw which proved so enlightening.’
‘How exactly? I remember you mentioning it but rather switched off when you got onto “demonic energy”.’
‘It was the mention of failure that triggered your reaction. You accused me of patronising you as a failure and then launched forward with such desperate aggression.’
‘So?’
‘Well, you’re an Enneagram three, just as Jennifer is. Suddenly her acquisition of the beach hut and her disappointment in Anton made sense. He made a very public failure of her and she had to lunge, just as she did with her teddy bear Cyril.’
Tamsin went silent.
‘So you know my number?’
‘How could I not know it when you’ve lived under my roof for five days! Not to mention working together on a case. In stressful situations we reveal ourselves like peacocks. And we’ve both found ourselves rather stressed.’
‘But you’re saying I’m the same number as a murderer?’
‘You are.’
‘Then I hope you’re the same number as Hitler.’ Abbot Peter laughed.
‘The thing is, Tamsin, it’s not really about what number you are.’
‘It isn’t?’
‘Only to begin with.’
‘So what is it about?’
‘It’s about whether you’re a healthy version of your number. Any number could murder and any number could save the world. An unhealthy Three is a nightmare but a healthy Three is a glory and it’s the same for all nine points on the circle. There are no good or bad numbers, just healthy and unhealthy manifestations of them. It’s what makes the Enneagram such a dynamic typology, charting the constant movement of creation and destruction within us.’
‘I have to say I sensed similarity.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘With Jennifer.’
‘Ah yes, well you would. In one sense, you will know her inside out.’
‘I mean, you were shocked by the crucifixion of the teddy, I could see by your face.’
‘I was, yes.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘No?’
‘I understood perfectly. I could have done that myself.’ The waves were quiet today, the sea strangely still.
‘Our inner fractures are different,’ said Abbot Peter, ‘which perhaps made us a rather good team.’
‘We were, Uncle, though--.’
‘Though what?’
Tamsin opened the car door a little.
‘You did become a little independent in the final stretch, a rather disobedient special witness.’
‘I seem to remember you declaring it a race.’
‘Only if I won.’
‘And then of course you were drifting somewhat.’
‘Me drifting? What about you?! How was I drifting?’
‘You became preoccupied with success rather than truth and obviously I couldn’t collude.’
‘Obviously.’
‘But you also saved my life in a daring act of loyalty which makes you my favourite niece and honoured hero.’
‘Really?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘And so maybe again?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Together we could solve all the world’s crimes!’
‘There’s a thought.’
‘I mean it.’
‘And my ego is singing loud songs of self-glory. But my time now must be with the community of St Michael’s. There’s some mending to do; some mending of things presently un-mended.’
‘Each to their own.’
‘But before that, one thing,’ said Peter. ‘Something that’s been puzzling me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘How was I excluded as a suspect from the murder enquiry quite so soon? Sally asked the question and I’ve never heard the answer.’
‘You have Sergeant Reiss to thank for that.’
‘Remind me to change my will.’
‘On the night of the murder, he took a call from a member of the public reporting “a strange man out walking in the rain, in an unnatural manner”.’
‘Unnatural manner?’
‘They thought you might have escaped from somewhere.’
‘It just gets better and better.’
‘So Reiss found a bored patrol car and suggested they tail you which they did, right back to Sandy View. Once here, on a quiet road and with the sea crashing in, they took the opportunity to drink their coffee and eat their sandwiches. So you had a watertight alibi, given that someone else saw the lights go off in the vestry around midnight. It couldn’t have been you.’
‘I did think I was innocent but it’s good to be reassured.’
‘I wish you well, Uncle,’ said Tamsin, giving him a hug. ‘And believe me when I say: you will see me again.’
‘I look forward to it.’
The car accelerated away along the sea front, with the Abbot - or the uncle? - waving. She was driving too fast, people didn’t drive like that in Stormhaven. Even so, it was good to have a relation in the world.
Peter paused. He took a deep breath as he looked out to sea and contemplated distant lands. Were the Sarmoun community still out there, living their secret life in Afghanistan? It seemed unlikely. Guns, bombs and reconnaissance planes would have flushed them out long ago. Perhaps they’d upped sticks and found another hideout. Or perhaps they went the way of all flesh, nothing lasts forever. The truth was, they’d probably never know that the man they sent to Europe had a son, who learned their teaching which helped solve a murder on the south coast of England. The Abbot liked the unforeseen but spilling continuity of things and felt a momentary and profound sense of pleasure, caught up in a greater outworking than his small and arrogant self.
He returned inside Sandy View. It was good to find a relation but good also when they left. ‘Thank you for coming, thank you for going’ as the Swedish apparently say. The house was once again his own and he surveyed the empty space with something akin to greed. He went into the study and sat down by the jigsaw ruins. He did like to bring order and he’d just found two of the corner pieces when the phone rang. It was Edwina Pipe, back in church arranging flowers with who knows what colour in her hair?
‘Yes, Mrs Pipe, I’ll be in the church a little later, around midday... we can talk about the Christmas flowers then... I remember last year’s poinsettias, we went to the market early... well the same again is fine by me, they looked wonderful... am I looking forward to Christmas? Well, of course I am, why ever not?... because things are hardly “stable” at St Michael’s?... very witty, Mrs Pipe... oh, it was one of Mr Pipe’s amusing asides?... I might have guessed... well, pass on my applause...
though I’m not sure things are ever as stable as we imagine them to be... in my experience, there is just the fragile moment... I’ll explain later, Mrs Pipe...’
Peter decided on some coffee, ‘two spoonfuls and solitary, please’. But the phone rang again while the kettle was boiling.
‘Could I come over?’ asked Sally.
‘Of course,’ said Peter, surprised. Sally never came over. She was a most diligent visitor to every home but his. ‘You’d be most welcome.’
‘I’ve made a rather big decision.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’ve thought about it.’
‘I’d like to talk about it with you. I probably should have spoken with you earlier.’
‘I can’t imagine I would have been any help at all.’
‘And I have a confession as well.’
‘Okay.’
‘You sound hesitant.’
‘No, no, I er -.’
‘Perhaps it’s more of an apology than a confession.’
‘An apology’s good, Sally, preferable, I think. I’ve heard enough confessions for a while.’
It was shortly after he put the phone down, and as he sat with his coffee, that there was a fizzing sound in the corner. Peter looked round concerned, only to witness an outbreak of lights on his Christmas tree. At last!
And as the Abbot sat, it was a kind light.
Eighty Four
Afghanistan,
Late twentieth century
‘The Sarkar is dead, long live the Sarkar! The truth is dead, long live the truth!’
In the Sarmoun Community, the immolation of the dead Sarkar and the installation of their successor takes place within two days. The new Sarkar, elected by the people, is approached by one carrying a cage containing song birds. The Sarkar reaches inside and draws one out, holds it in his hands and then kneels.
The question is asked: ‘Is the bird you hold dead or alive?’
‘The bird is alive.’
‘You have the power to kill and the power to let live. Shall the bird be alive tonight?’
‘That is my intention.’
The Sarkar then kisses the bird.
‘Is the truth you hold dead or alive?’
‘The truth is alive.’
‘You have the power to kill and the power to let live. Shall the truth be alive tonight?’
‘That is my intention.’
The Sarkar kisses the bird again.
‘Then let go of all you hold and let the truth fly.’
At this point, the Sarkar releases the bird into the sky.
‘The Sarkar is dead, long live the Sarkar! The truth is dead, long live the truth!’
In the days that follow, the newly elected Sarkar consults with representatives from the community. They also reflect on the last will and testament of their predecessor, seen only by themselves. After the passing of forty days, the new Sarkar addresses the community.
The twentieth century has brought changes. The Sarmoun community is neither the numerical or physical size of old. It has once had to move due to circumstances of gun, bomb and reconnaissance plane and the previous Sarkar lived for five years in captivity after being abducted by local militia while on a rare trip in the outside world. He was returned unharmed, older in the face though maybe truer in heart. But the community itself lives on, still found by those determined to find it, and still honeybees gathering truth from different flowers and planting it in the ashes of their old selves.
The difference on this occasion, as the Sarkar stands to speak, is that she’s a woman. It is not considered of great significance, more the quiet working of common sense, Magdalena being the best candidate in most people’s eyes. Towards the end of her address, spoken slowly so her words can be repeated and passed round - microphones are regarded as the enemy of community and personal truth - Magdalena says this:
‘One hundred years ago, we gave the nine-pointed symbol to the world, the story of destruction and creation lived out through the nine facets of unity that is humankind. We did not offer it carelessly but after a century of consideration and reflection. It was time for the bird to fly, for the truth must always be risked. If sometimes it is abused, so be it; for sometimes it lives with outcomes beautiful beyond our imagining.
‘And now, my friends, as the twenty-first century beckons, we must let truth fly again. For the past one hundred years, we have practised silence in this community, learned of its accuracy, depth, stillness and strength. And my understanding, guided by my dear predecessor and by many of you, is that we now seek a new emissary to give it to the world. As George Ivanovitch Gurdjieff, at the beginning of the twentieth century, left this community to live and teach the nine-pointed symbol, so now we seek a new prophet to send, a teacher of silence for a noisy and distracted world. Now is the hour for the world to learn silence.
‘Whom shall we send? Maybe that person sits among us today or maybe, as before, they will come from the outside. Later today I travel to Bokhara. We hear of someone there who asks after us with some persistence. We shall arrange a meeting, a drink of lemon perhaps, talk a little and we shall see. Maybe we shall help them to find us. Not easily of course, for we remain a well-hidden open secret. And yes, they will still have to cross the chasm at Hell’s Mouth, like young adventurer George Ivanovitch Gurdjieff, all those years ago. May peace be upon him and his family, wherever they are this day...’
Appendix 1
Brief Enneagram Descriptions
The One Space: Issues around doing the right thing. They believe they know the right thing to do and will correct others when they don’t do it in that way. Self-perception: ‘I am right.’ Anger is an emotion not considered proper and therefore rejected. Anger with themselves and the world for not being good is expressed as resentment. Can lead to despair, self-hate, sense of estrangement, fear of personal annihilation. Their inner critic does not leave them alone.
The Two Space: Issues around finding an identity by creating external dependency on them. They are proud, not believing they need help themselves. Self-perception: ‘I rescue people.’ This hides a felt lack of inner worth and anger at those who did not bestow this on them when young. Their ego is damaged if people do not respond with suitable thankfulness. Offence taken, aggression, self- punishing. Fear of being useless.
The Three Space: Issues around achievement and fear of failure. Self-perception: ‘I am successful, efficient.’ They find activities/ attributes that win widest possible approval in order to promote a successful ‘self’. It is a false self but activity protects them from facing the deceit. Cut off from feeling. Inner crisis if activity stops, paralysis, numbness. In their background, an adult who valued them for what they achieved.
The Four Space: Issues around a sense of abandonment in their past, grandiose fantasy and rejection of ordinary things. Self-perception: ‘I am unique, special.’ From childhood, a strategy developed to prevent immobilising depression. Desire for the unobtainable, pushing away that which is close. Haunted by sense of inadequate origins. Envy at common happiness.
The Five Space: Issues around the belief that people threaten something essential to their survival. Seek the corners of life, avoidant, unemotional. Self-perception: ‘I am wise.’ Anger at others who impinge on their privacy or cause them to feel stupid. Stockpile knowledge for security in unsafe world. Isolationist tendencies with constant question: ‘When will I next be alone?’
The Six Space: Issues around trust and security. Big question: ‘Where does my security come from?’ Self-perception: ‘I am loyal, obedient.’ Scan horizon for danger, fearful people, dominated by internal debates in their head, paranoid version of reality. They don’t trust the world but don’t trust themselves either, so sometimes seek external authority.
The Seven Space: Issues around keeping moving, keeping options ope
n and avoidance of sadness and pain. Self-perception: ‘I’m okay, I’m fine.’ Committed planners towards a bright future, they are future people running from experience of abandonment. Keen to sort things out for others with their many ideas. Struggle to express anger, lacking inner emotional substance. Often starting tasks, may struggle to complete.
The Eight Space: Issues around the need to seize control, emotional dominance and the avoidance of weakness. Self-perception: ‘I am powerful, I can do.’ They avoid weakness and tenderness and are angry at any who challenge their power and authority. Lust for life, unconstrained by others’ rules. Relationships are protection/ possession more than intimacy.
The Nine Space: Issues around the avoidance of conflict. Calm demeanour hides stubborn streak. Self-perception: ‘I am set, nothing can disturb me.’ Avoid inner conflict and turmoil. Tendency towards zoning-out and unfocused use of time. With little sense of their own worth, they’ll sacrifice their identity to merge with others. In decline, self-fantasists. Anger is the repressed emotion - it may occasionally explode cataclysmically.
Appendix 2
Enneagram Diagram
Author’s Notes
If planning a day out by the sea, you will not find Stormhaven on the map. But while the name may be fictional, its history and present are rooted firmly in the real town of Seaford, where the cliff walk described is particularly dear to my heart. I hope the town’s residents will tolerate the arrival of Abbot Peter. He comes in peace even if he doesn’t always find it. And events and personalities at St Michael’s are purely fictional, of course, with no basis in fact other than the truth that every community has its secrets.
G. I. Gurdjieff was a real figure and is accurately described here. I’ve stayed fairly faithful to his own autobiography, weaving in other well-documented facts about him. But while he had a powerful effect on certain women and appears to have had children with some, we have no record of him ever giving away a son for adoption and both Yorii and Abbot Peter are fictional creations.