The Chaplain

by Paul Almond

  But with all that, he knew the dreaded morrow would arrive.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The next morning Jack and Catherina were awakened by a banging at the front door of her house, around the corner from the tea-shop. Catherine leapt up, threw on her dressing gown and left the room.

  Jack sat up, wide awake. What... Had they been discovered? Had the Canadians come to get him? Or the Boers? Would they take him out and shoot him? What on earth should he do? All sorts of wild and hideous thoughts ran around his fraught mind. Anyway, get up quick and make ready. Shave and dress, oh yes, as fast as he could.

  As he was putting on his socks and shoes, Catherina came back in, shut the door, leaned against it, and looked at him.

  He looked up at her with a questioning look.

  She did not speak for a long time.

  He frowned. What had happened?

  She still leant against the door, looking at him with... well, an enigmatic, quite strange look, betraying nothing.

  Finally he spoke. “Who was that, Catherina?”

  “A soldier.”

  What did that mean? “And ...”

  She shook her head.

  “Tell me, Catherina. What did the soldier want?”

  She came and sat on the arm of the chair by the bed. Then she looked at him. “He told me that they have found Hermanus.”

  Jack sat up.

  “He is a captive. He sent a message. They will release him, if he promises not to fight. He will be coming home soon.”

  “Hermanus! Alive? He’s coming back?”

  “Yes. He’s coming back.”

  Jack nodded to himself. He got up and slowly finished dressing.

  * * *

  Although it meant arriving sooner at camp and his punishment, Jack could not stop striding purposefully back through the town. He had been given a hearty breakfast of eggs, small pork sausages, tomatoes and toast by Catherina, although they had both been curiously silent about the new turn of events. Perhaps they should meet again, once they’d had time to think? But it was clear to Jack as he walked along that Catherina would go back to her husband, she would accept Hermanus and return to her former life. Yes, the further he walked, the more convinced he became of that. And as for him, what could he offer her? Nothing, until he found out into what depths this degradation had flung him. His own life would likely be devastated, he knew that.

  First of all, the punishment. Army discipline required a severe one. Although he had visited and ministered to prisoners in the lockup, he had little idea what sentence might fit his crime. Deserting was serious. Could they shoot him? Or lock him up for years? Or send him home in chains? He hoped not.

  And worse, his Bishop. And church. What would they say in Quebec when they heard their chaplain had let them down? Would his punishment be announced in the church bulletin? Or the Diocesan Gazette? Would they make him an example? Would he be, as they say, defrocked? Well, then he could go back to the Old Homestead. But it sounded as if Mac and Clare had things under control there, with Earle coming along fast. Three brothers, all of whom worked harder than he. No, no room at the farm.

  What about some job teaching? Yes, but would he like that? What little time he’d spent teaching children on the Canadian Labrador he had not enjoyed one bit. He felt helpless when faced by youthful energies of children racing everywhere and cutting up such storms, the minute vigilance was relaxed. Dreadful. In church, he preached and they listened. That’s how he liked it.

  So what on earth could he do? And don’t forget, for a second time he had lost a new-found love — together with any and all prestige he might have built up over the years. Already he was suffering disrespect from the troops, just for obeying orders. Oh yes, all shreds of dignity destroyed. Indeed, a lost soul.

  He’d never felt more despondent, more destroyed. How could he ever climb back into the sunlight he had formerly enjoyed. Indeed, a real underworld journey! A journey with no foreseeable end.

  Trudging through the chill morning before the sun had risen high enough to heat the town, he somehow hoped he would be brave enough to face his punishment. And after all, had he not had two glorious days? Perhaps these memories would nourish him in the coming weeks or months.

  Did souls benefit from suffering? He could see no earthly good jumping out of it. Even his very purpose here had been undermined by meeting one supposed enemy and finding out that, if she were not to be a permanent love, at least her being was still powerful enough for him to say, stop this destruction of others, be they sweethearts, fathers or sons. No, this war, he realized, was just not right. He felt a bit better, now that he had admitted that to himself.

  He knew only too well that his Lord had descended into the Underworld, a much worse one, and broken asunder the very bonds of death. But no breaking for this poor clergyman. Just a bedraggled soul, floundering in depths of a mire he had himself created.

  * * *

  As he neared the camp, Jack pondered his first steps. Go at once to Col. Otter and confess everything? Probably not. Otter was not a clergyman. Otter, so far as he could see, had very little sympathy for, and even less understanding of, human nature. No, think further.

  What then? Father O’Leary was alone and waiting for him. Oh no! He had abandoned his friend and fellow priest for the pleasures of the flesh. Oh, now he felt real remorse. If anyone were to talk about a sin, that was it. For he had completely forgotten him and thereby let down his church and his conscience. Abandoning a good friend for the sake of carnal pleasures. What a terrible person he had turned out to be. He felt mortified.

  Well, he decided, his first job must be to attempt a redemption. He would arrive after the camp breakfast and go straight to the field hospital as if nothing had happened. Then he’d seek out Father O’Leary. He hoped the aged priest had not been taken from him by that blasted typhoid.

  Father Peter O’Leary was lying on his cot upstairs in the old stone building that had been commandeered as a hospital, a feverish sweat glistening on his brow. He turned his head as Jack came forward. “Jack!” he murmured. “Good to see you. I missed you yesterday. You must’ve been off in other hospitals.”

  Jack sat without replying. Then brought himself to ask, “How are you making out, Peter?”

  “Bearing up, bearing up. The Lord Almighty is at my right hand and I grip it as best I can.”

  “I’m afraid, from what I’ve seen, you may have another week or two of this.”

  Jack saw O’Leary studying him. Oh dear. A clergyman too, he must also have that sixth sense. Jack looked away.

  “It’ll be a lot longer,” O’Leary replied. “I’m older than the men you’ve seen. It gets me down worse.”

  Well, thought Jack, now is the time. He leaned in so that he could whisper.

  O’Leary turned to study his face. “What is it, my son?” he asked. “You have something to tell me?”

  “Father, I don’t know the words...”

  “You have sinned.” O’Leary nodded. “I knew it.”

  “How does it work, this confession business of yours? I’d like to learn — for my own practice, of course. Someone asked me to take their confession, and it was just so much trivia. But I knew there were some phrases I should say. Not having been schooled in your branch of religion, I...”

  O’Leary was watching him. “You begin, my son, with: “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “And then I wait, or I say, ’Go on, my son.’”

  Well, the time had come. Try a real confession. No matter that O’Leary was strict and adhered to the tenants of his church. Jack deserved the worst. So he had to do this. He began haltingly. “Father, I have gone to the very ends of degradation. I am in such need of relief. But there’s almost no way I can be forgiven, so grievous...”

  O’Leary frowned. In reading his face, Jack could see that little priest could not believe what he was hearing. He waited.

 
“First of all, I have drunk to excess.”

  Jack saw a smile cross O’Leary’s face — which quickly vanished. After all, this confession stuff was pretty serious, Jack imagined.

  O’Leary nodded. “Go on my son. Tell me everything. And the truth.”

  “I have been absent without permission. I didn’t come back to the camp on Sunday night, nor on Monday morning, nor even last night. I just feel awful.”

  “I’m afraid, Jack, I cannot absolve you of that because it’s no sin. It’s just breaking a military law. You’ll have to see Colonel Otter about that.”

  Jack paused. “Oh. So that’s not a sin? Even though I knew it was wrong?”

  O’Leary smiled, as he might with a child. “In the course of daily life, how many times do we do things that we know are wrong, my son? They jump out unexpectedly. Lord Above, if a priest had to listen to all those inconsequential acts, we’d never get any work done.”

  “Well, I guess the next thing is...” Now how should he say this? Well, if there was any validity in this confession stuff, he’d better have a go. With an effort, he launched out. “I have lain with a woman, Father.” He paused. “Not once, when I was inebriated, but twice, when I knew better. But so help me, I could not stop. And worse, Father,” he gulped, “I even enjoyed it.”

  O’Leary seemed to be suppressing another smile. He nodded. “Go on my son.”

  “Well, that’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Was she married?”

  “When we lay together, we thought her husband dead. But we found just this morning, he’s still alive. And so I left.”

  O’Leary nodded again. “Just as a matter of fact, you did commit adultery, but neither of you knew anything about it then.”

  “Correct.”

  “All right.” O’Leary sighed, the sigh of an old man who had dealt with this so often. “Now, Jack, this is the part where you bow your head, and ask in your very soul, to be forgiven. And then I make the sign of the cross as I say: Ego te absolvo, in nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

  Jack remained, head bowed, in silence.

  After a good length of time, he opened his eyes and looked. Father O’Leary was grinning.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You haven’t confessed to the one really bad sin you committed.”

  “And what was that, Father? I swear that’s all I did.”

  “The sin of pride. You thought that your one silly little dalliance, well, let’s not call it silly for you took it seriously — you magnified it into some great extraordinary fall into eternal damnation. That was your sin. Simply, my son, you fell a prey to physical desires. Not a thing unusual about that. You’re absolved now, in any case.”

  Jack sighed. Was it really that easy? “Thank you, Father.”

  O’Leary reached out and took Jack’s hand. “Jack, do you know how many of our young soldiers have gone to prostitutes? Do you know how many would just kill to have had your experience? Do you think they’re all sinners in God’s eyes? Not at all. It’s normal. And you fellas in your heretic church are even allowed to get married. Of course, it is better to withhold carnal pleasures, make no mistake, until your marriage vows. But although Christ exhorted us to be as He is, Jack,” he shook his head, “we are, after all, just very ordinary human beings. I hope that doesn’t shock you.”

  Jack studied the old man. Wise, of course, had he not been a priest for what, thirty years? He sure knew whereof he spoke. So no more indulging in this sin of pride, as O’Leary had called it, thinking that he had just consigned himself to an everlasting bonfire. Chin up, get on with life, and forget about it.

  “And now, Jack, comes the worst part, go see the Colonel.”

  Jack nodded and started to rise.

  “Wait!”

  Jack sat down again.

  “Don’t make a full confession. That’s reserved for the church. Just tell him... tell him you got drunk, and had a nasty hangover. That’s all he needs to know. It’s very much in keeping. Might even give the old walrus a new perspective... Who knows.”

  Jack at last smiled. “So you don’t think he’ll throw me in the lockup for six months?”

  “Jack, you just got drunk. He’d have us all locked up, if that’s how he saw it.”

  Then a really horrible thought struck Jack. “What about my bishop?”

  “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, Jack. You Waspy fellows are all the same. Puritans all of you. You can’t even commit one tiny transgression without blowing it out of all proportion. Now Jack, don’t forget to come back and tell me what he said.”

  “I won’t forget,” promised Jack. And off he went to see Otter.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  All that day, avoiding the dreadful future, Jack went from sick-bed to sick-bed, writing letters for those too ill to do so, and even boxing the last mementos and precious items of those who had departed forever. This particular chore always upset him. He could never stop thinking of the faces of the loved ones when they would open their doors to receive the box. But then, it might be all they would have to remember of their son, their husband or brother. So he always did this frightful chore carefully, never throwing anything away, apart from handkerchiefs and such like, for who knew what might be considered important? And all the while, he waited for a summons from his commanding officer, Col. Otter.

  The next morning, it came. Far better, he thought, to be summoned than to volunteer. This way, he’d be given a clear time with the Colonel. Perhaps the old dog might even listen, before he imposed what Jack was sure would be a severe sentence, in spite of what O’Leary had told him. You can’t let a clergyman get away with being drunk.

  Adjutant Brown, with a smirk, showed Chaplain Jack into Col. Otter’s rather spacious office. They had commandeered one of the larger houses in Bloemfontein and the Colonel seemed well installed.

  Chaplain Jack saluted.

  “At ease, Chaplain. How are things going?” asked Otter. “Everything all right?”

  Jack hesitated. Then he thought, yes, the old duffer is giving me a chance to confess, so I’d better take it. “I’m sorry, sir, but the strain of tending to our wounded, the pressure of seeing so many of my friends shot, dying, or taken by that dreadful fever, it’s... well, it’s been preying on me.”

  Otter lifted an eyebrow, cupped his hands, and leaned forward on his desk and waited.

  “I’m afraid, sir, I became a prey to the unforgivable. I ... overindulged. I’m sorry.”

  “And that’s why you weren’t with us on Monday?”

  “Yes sir.” Jack thought being tight-lipped might serve him better than floundering around in a morass of excuses.

  “So you’ve had one bloody great hangover?” asked Otter.

  “I think you’ve put your finger on it, sir. A hangoverlike I’ve never had before.”

  “And being a priest, you weren’t sure what was happening. You drank too much, had a blasted hangover and couldn’t handle it?”

  “That’s it precisely, sir. I couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  “So you bloody well should be,” exclaimed Otter. “Especially you, our one C of E chaplain.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Should I send you back to Cape Town for rehabilitation?”

  Jack lifted his head, looked straight at Otter. “Sir, that would be a punishment too enormous for me to handle. You know what the men have been saying because I obeyed your order the last time.”

  Otter shook his head. “What have they’ve been saying?”

  Of course, Jack thought to himself, he doesn’t mingle. Then he saw a gleam of recognition. “Ah ha!”went on Otter, “so that’s the origin of a couple of snide remarks I’ve heard. I see.”

  “The men think I’m a coward, sir, because you sent me back to tend the wounded. I’ve been given a pretty hard time since coming back.” Jack let that sentence hang.

  Otter nodded.
“I can see that. I myself even fell into the trap. I was praising O’Leary in front of you. I should have been more discreet, now that you tell me that.”

  Jack remained silent.

  “Well, we’ll have to put a stop right away to that nasty rumouring. I shall see to that in the morning. You have been following my orders in a first-rate fashion, and your behaviour has been exemplary. You wanted to be at the front, you wanted to be with the men, and I made you leave for a more important job.” Otter nodded to himself. “I’d have to say, well done, Chaplain! And no, you won’t be sent back to Cape Town. What do you think I should do?”

  “Frankly sir, I don’t know military rules. But I can tell you this. After what I’ve been through, it’s even more unlikely that this sort of behaviour will be repeated while I am in your regiment.”

  Otter looked pleased, and paused, staring down at his desk. “You know, Chaplain, we’re going to join Roberts on his march to Pretoria shortly. I think this time, you will do all of us some good if you stuck with us. Especially with Father O’Leary’s indisposition. How is the old man getting on? I hear you’ve been tending to him rather well.”

  Jack allowed himself to relax. “Well, we are brothers of the cloth, no matter in what directions our denominations diverge, rather unhappily at times, I am forced to say. But he’ll pull through, I’m sure of it.”

  Otter coughed. “Of course, of course.”

  Jack waited

  Otter looked up. “Well, that will be all, Chaplain. I’ll make sure to attend your service on Sunday. I do hear from the men that when you get a subject in your teeth, you shake the hell out of it. Just like a British bulldog. And... Good luck.”