Now he was going to manipulate Godfrey again; he had it all planned in his mind. It was like a combat, a game. And it was a game he was going to win. He, Bertram, was really the one with the power and he enjoyed it. It might not be easy, but he knew now how to plant ideas in Godfrey’s mind yet allow him to think they were his own. That was most important! But he would separate Joseph from his rabbit if it was the last thing he did. He had become obsessed by the idea.
He moved carefully down the last few steps of the wide, highly polished staircase. There was only a dim greenish light emanating from a green bowl-shaped glass shade overhanging the hallway. Father Godfrey was always particular about turning off all unnecessary lights – reducing the electricity bill was one of the many ways in which they tried to lessen their costs – but his light was on, as Bertram knew it would be, for he always read late into the night, or so he claimed. Bertram hesitated before knocking. Was he about to make a fool of himself? Was it really necessary to see the old man at this time of night? Over a rabbit! He thought, He’ll pretend he doesn’t mind. He hasn’t got the guts to tell me to go away. So it’s his own fault for being so weak.
Bertram knocked on the door rather too firmly. It was a while, however, before Father Godfrey answered. Bertram was beginning to wish he hadn’t gone, when all of a sudden the door opened.
‘Ah! It’s you.’ He didn’t seem surprised, but neither did he seem pleased.
‘Just a word, Father, if you have a moment.’
‘It’s rather late, isn’t it? But come in – just for a moment, then.’
Bertram was offered a chair facing the desk and Godfrey seated himself on the other side.
He’s on the defensive, Bertram noted with some pleasure, and he assumed his seat slowly, deliberately before speaking.
‘You know, of course, that Brother Joseph has that rabbit in his room?’
‘I do. But we’ve already spoken about this.’
Bertram appeared to be thinking deeply. His look was one of concern. ‘I really do think we should try to help Brother Joseph, Father. This animal must take him away from other duties: prayer, meditation, for example. It must very distracting for him.’
‘I doubt whether he would see it like that, Brother.’
He’s irritated, Bertram thought with some pleasure, and he’s got that sulky,defensive look again. But Bertram would not be put off; it only made his assured victory all the sweeter.
Godfrey’s’s not taking me seriously, he thought, and his anger flushed around his neck. ‘No! I’m sure he wouldn’t, but then he doesn’t yet know what the alternatives are, does he?’
Bertram himself smiled now to disguise his contempt. That silly, defensive look! But he wants to know. He’ll listen.
Bertram had to be very careful now. ‘I’ve given this a great deal of careful thought,’ he articulated slowly.
‘I’m sure you must have done.’
Bertram knew he must soften his approach. He leaned forward. ‘What do you think we might do to house the animal? Kindly, of course. It surely can’t be happy cooped up in a small box all night. Rabbits like to go out at night. Do their hunting for food and such like. It’s surely not natural to be cooped up in a box indoors. Quite cruel really, if you think about it. What we do to wild creatures! And, of course, the room smells dreadfully, dreadfully. Quite awful. The smell permeates everywhere. The box is never cleaned out, you see. Of course, we all understand Brother Joseph’s difficulties; he is not strong. It must be difficult for him.’ He adopted his troubled expression, which had served him well in the past. ‘The poor man needs our help, Father. Is there any way, do you think, we could help him to look after his pet better?’
Godfrey flicked the loose hair out of his eyes. ‘I suppose you are thinking of the dog run.’
‘What an excellent idea, Father. Of course, we would have to make them completely safe. Oh yes. We want brother Joseph to feel happy about the new arrangements, don’t we? And, of course, it will be where his great friend kept the dogs. I’m sure that will please him.’
‘I doubt that very much. Brother John’s death and the grief … Well, I will put it to him. I do see that something has to be done.’ His voice trailed away and he twisted in his chair, flicking at his hair again.
He’s not happy, Bertram thought, without surprise
‘I’ll speak to him, but see to it that the run is made quite safe. And I mean quite safe, Brother. If you will.’
Chapter 18
Despite the bath, I couldn’t sleep. I lay, eyes closed, trying to imagine the long grass with the dark tree above and listened for the movement of the leaves, but still I couldn’t sleep. I tried to make my breathing regular and hypnotic – I’d read about that somewhere – but I could feel myself tensing and knew it was useless. It was like a first night back at school: the unfamiliar bed, hard and cold, and the covers flimsy and unprotective.
I must have been about six. It was a Sunday and I had gone down to breakfast as usual but was told I couldn’t have anything to eat because I was going to have my tonsils out. I knew what that meant. I don’t think I was frightened. I think I just accepted it. It’s funny how grown-ups were always so secretive – nothing was ever discussed or explained. But then, perhaps it was better not to know in advance. If I had had time to think about it then, surely, I would have been a bit scared. Now, all of a sudden, I was to go to hospital with no preparation, no warning. I always talked to Dan and Fleur about everything. We had no secrets from each other.
My father drove me to a big house, took me to a small room and told me to undress. It seemed strange to be undressing in the middle of a Sunday morning, strange to be getting into the neatly starched, cold bed when I was feeling perfectly well. Some other people came into the room and Father gave me a small metal rod with rings running up and down it and told me to count the rings, slowly, out loud. Someone put a red rubber mask over my face and as I counted, my voice became louder, there was a peculiar buzzing in my ears and I spiralled away, out of control, helpless.
I woke up to find a nurse sitting on the bed and a hot sticky rubber sheet covering my chest. I could feel my mouth filling with warm, thick liquid, which I spat into the metal bowl the nurse held in front of me. I was frightened by the blood and I cannot tell you how painful my throat was, searing raw and burning. It was days before I could eat or drink. Years later when I was suffering continually with a lost voice, the specialist who looked at my throat said, ‘My God, who on earth butchered you?’
I thought about all the times I had been in hospital. A tooth had to be cut out and the woman in the bed beside me had a blue rinse, which she told me she had done especially for coming into hospital. She always liked to look her best! To be sure, she didn’t look ill, but then her face was immaculately and heavily made-up. She sat, propped against the pillows, wearing lacy bedjackets, a new one for every day of the week, and gave me a detailed account of her gallstones, which had now been removed and were sitting in a jar, which she rattled towards me victoriously.
I hate hospitals. I am scared of illness now, so I had Dan at home. He was a plump, bald-headed, placid baby with large, enquiring eyes. And Fleur, born six years later, was red, scrawny, with spikes of fine hair. Restless, demanding, determined. She used to lie on her back with one knee folded and her tiny hands behind her head. Dan grew up to be thoughtful, reliable and easy-going; Fleur never stopped talking, couldn’t concentrate on anything for long and either loved or hated with ferocity. I knew I had a very special bond with Dan, but I loved Fleur beyond words. When exhausted, she would crawl into my lap and fall asleep. It was like sheltering a wild animal. It felt very special.
As Dan grew up he tried to hide his adoration for Fleur behind a facade of casual indifference, but he fooled no one, least of all Fleur, who was his shadow. Often at night we would find she had crawled into bed with him. She would wriggle and giggle and hide under the bedclothes. He would get no sleep while she was there and had to be removed kick
ing and giggling, ‘Just one more cuddle!’ Everything he played, she wanted to join in. At two years old, she would insist on playing ‘Nopoly’, and patiently Dan would give her a house to arrange or let her hand out the money. There were times, of course, when he did things without her; she couldn’t always tag along, nor should she have done. On those occasions, I would have to find something to distract her. When Dan had a party, for instance, I arranged for Fleur to have one too, but in another part of the house, otherwise she would have been continually interfering.
What did they like to eat? This is one of the terrible things. I can’t remember. I can remember general things like roasts and roast potatoes. They always wanted to eat one on the end of a fork before lunch. I could remember the early-morning cups of tea with iced diamond-shaped biscuits, but what in particular did they like? For Christ’s sake, I can’t remember. Tell me why can’t I remember the precious, private little things that only a parent could know! It’s all a blur. Everything is in generalities and I can’t bear it.
And I can’t ask Peter.
I got out of bed, lit a cigarette and opened the door. It was warm and clammy, and the chimneys and roof of the house appeared remote and aloof. I thought, I must be mad to stick myself in a place like this. And then, wryly, But that figures!
The tip of the cigarette glowed and caught the edges of the smoke. I shivered, despite the closeness of the night, and my stomach felt hollow and I decided that perhaps a cup of tea and a biscuit would send me to sleep.
Chapter 19
The rabbit, sensing dawn, started scrabbling about in the box, and Joseph opened his eyes and listened joyfully, comforted by the familiar sound. He never failed to feel the pleasurable anticipation of seeing his rabbit for the first time each day. He rolled out of bed immediately, his own scrabbling movements imitating the rabbit’s as he pushed away the bedclothes with his legs. He greeted the rabbit with a ‘Chuck! Chuck!’ and ruffled his ears before padding down to the lavatory, dressed only in his vest and pants. Everywhere was silence; he was always the first up.
As it was Sunday and he was to serve at Mass, he ran the electric razor, a Christmas present from all the brothers, over his coarse stubble but without the least interest. He didn’t trouble to look in the mirror that hung above the washbasin in his room, and when he had finished his face was dotted with clumps of whiskers that stuck out from his chin and cheeks, but he didn’t notice as he hurriedly rinsed his hands under the cold water. Drying them on his pants, he dragged his habit over his head.
He moved quickly, excited like a child before Christmas. ‘Come on, Francis,’ he whispered, and fitted the red lead onto the rabbit’s collar before lifting him out of the box. He tried shutting his bedroom door behind him with his elbow, but it was too difficult and so he left it open, with the damp, hot smell of rotting manure escaping behind him.
Once in the kitchen, he put the rabbit down on the floor while he opened the back door and then, holding onto the lead, he pulled the rabbit, dog-like, out into the garden. It was just light, so Joseph could see enough to find the long rope encircling the trunk of the cedar that stood in the middle of the lawn, and tied this and the lead together with a rough knot. Then he trotted back to the dustbins standing outside the door and found yesterday’s vegetable peelings, which he had previously wrapped in newspaper, and these he dropped in front of the rabbit, who was already nibbling at yesterday’s remains, still scattered untidily around the tree. The dirty paper Joseph stuffed in his pocket as he turned and shuffled his way back through the kitchen door.
It was dark in the chapel, but he found his way easily to the altar and felt for the box of matches, which he always hid from the others, behind one of the candlesticks. He shouldn’t do this, he knew, but he enjoyed lighting the candles so much, and he wanted to make quite sure that if by any chance a brother should get to the chapel before him, then the brother, not being able to find the matches in the vestry, would not be able to light the candles before he arrived to do it. So he nodded with satisfaction as he took the box in his hand.
The tall, white candles were too high for him to reach and so, as usual, he had to stand on Father Godfrey’s prayer stool. He pulled it over to the altar and with one hand on it for support, he stepped up awkwardly, his foot catching the hem of his habit. Once he had balanced himself, he struck a match, but with nodding head and shaking hand, he had difficulty in touching the wicks with the small flame. He was obliged to light several matches, which he dropped carelessly on the carpet, before finally succeeding in setting the candles alight.
The altar came alive in the flickering, yellow light and deep shadows wavered on the walls and floor. Joseph stepped down, tucked the matches back behind the candlestick again, pulled back the stool and then made his way to the vestry. From the cupboard he took out the silver plate and chalice, placing them first on a small wooden table beside the cupboard, before carefully and slowly counting out twelve round white wafers, which he placed delicately onto the dish. He managed to arrange the white discs in a circular pattern, every circle touching the next exactly. Then he poured the wine into the chalice, spilling two red drops onto the white cloth. He didn’t appear to notice, but took first the chalice and then the plate, and put them carefully in the centre of the altar. He took a step backwards and stood admiring his work, then turning abruptly, hurried to the front pew. The paper in which he had wrapped the vegetable scraps crackled noisily in his pocket as he lowered himself onto his knees.
The low sunlight was filtering through the high windows now, lending the chapel the yellow glow of early morning, but Joseph, in his black habit and kneeling in the shadowy pew, could barely be seen. He pushed clenched fists into his eyes and prepared himself for Mass and thought about his sins; he knew he must have committed some since last Mass – he had been disobedient over Francis. It was wrong, he knew, to take him into the kitchen and to have him in his room, but somehow he couldn’t feel the wrath of God. Bertram seemed to mind more than God. Still, he must try harder. And perhaps he had not read the Bible as much as he should, but he knew it off by heart anyway. And as for his prayers, well, the point was that he talked to God all the time anyway. He either talked to Francis or to God.
How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of Hosts!
My soul longeth and fainteth for the courts of the Lord:
My heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God.
Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O Lord of Hosts, my King and my God.
Blessed are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising thee.
Joseph looked up at the figure that hung on the wall above the altar. He thought of Jesus at the Last Supper and knew that the Lord would be there, as He had promised when he, Joseph, took the round white disc in his mouth and drank the wine from the silver chalice. It was, for him, the dearest thing in his life; that and Billie. ‘Teach me to be your faithful soldier and servant,’ he whispered and then remembered the visitor. Surely, she would want to come to Mass this morning. He must go and fetch her.
Chapter 20
I woke with such a start. The hammering seemed to come from somewhere across a river, a long way away. It took me several moments to realise where I was and that someone was knocking on my door. I leapt off the bed, black dots spinning dizzily. I know I called, ‘Who is it?’
Someone shouted back, ‘It’s Mass soon,’ and I recognised the high, quavering voice of the little monk with the rabbit. I unlocked the door and called out, ‘When? When is it?’ but he was already halfway down the path before he could answer me.
I had to sit down, still feeling peculiar after the dreaming and sudden waking. I wanted to make myself a cup of tea, but I knew I had no time and that now I had to pluck up the courage and go to morning Mass. How stupid is it that despite everything I cared how I would look? Can you believe that? But there was no time. My hair was a mess, so I just pile
d it up in a knot and pulled on the blue jeans and top I had been wearing the day before.
The low sun caught the edges of the tree trunks and lit up patches of grass and the tips of the rhododendron leaves. It was going to be another warm day but just then it was cool; the path was wet with dew and the early morning damp from the lawn, as I crossed it, spread dark stains on my sandals.
The French windows of the central lobby were slightly open and I had the feeling that the little monk had deliberately left them open for me. I had no idea where I was supposed to go but guessed that it was somewhere beyond the dining room. I was desperate not to be late, wanting to go in unnoticed. Then, to my relief, I saw Father Godfrey crossing the hall. He was wearing a richly embroidered green and gold cape. ‘Good morning,’ he nodded and proceeded through the door that led to the dining room, and I followed with some uncertainty, feeling a surge of anger that nobody made anything clear to me.
But outside the chapel he stopped and indicated that I should go on in in front of him.
‘Where shall I sit?’
‘Oh, anywhere, anywhere at all.’ And then added with the chuckle that was already familiar, ‘We don’t have special places any more.’
The gnome-like backs of the hooded brothers were barely lit by the flat, grey light of the early morning, which seeped through the nave windows, contrasting with the chancel’s artificial yellow light, which flooded from a circle of bulbs housed by discoloured parchment shades.
I took a place quickly in the back row, far away from everyone else, and heard the cushioned strides of Father Godfrey as he passed me. Glancing up as he approached the altar, I saw the ‘rabbit brother’ who had woken me kneeling on the right, his palms together in prayer, his head nodding every so often. I wondered what his position was in the community. From what I’d seen so far, he appeared very much to be a law unto himself. I wondered about the rabbit. It was very unusual, to say the least. And then I questioned, Are they happy here? Are they kind to each other?
Ask Me to Dance Page 8