At once I was released from the panic-infested muddle which had been exacerbated by his sympathy and concern. Almost gasping with relief I waded straight into the attack.
“You want me to collapse in a heap on your carpet, I suppose!” I shouted. “That would give you great satisfaction, wouldn’t it—you’d be delighted to see your old enemy vanquished! But I’m not the kind of clergyman who has nervous breakdowns, I’m not the kind of clergyman who makes a mess of his life, I’m not the kind of clergyman who—”
“You appear to be the kind of clergyman who’s in urgent need of spiritual first aid, and if you’ll now give me the chance I’ll—”
“Oh, go and play the wonder-worker to all your doting disciples! My problems are no business of yours!”
“That’s exactly where you’re wrong. I have a duty to the Church—and to Dr. Ottershaw, our superior—to see you don’t crack up and create a first-class scandal. You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
“I’m not obliged to answer that! I’m answerable only to my Bishop, not to arrogant ex-abbots like you!”
“So be it,” said Darrow, rising to his feet and moving to the telephone on his desk. “I’ll ring Dr. Ottershaw.”
I gasped. Then I jumped up, grabbed the receiver from his hand, slammed the instrument back in its cradle and stood guard over it.
“Aysgarth, short of murdering me you can’t stop me speaking my mind eventually to the Bishop if I choose to do so! Now stop flailing around in panic and try to take in what I’m about to say. I’ll leave Dr. Ottershaw in ignorance of your truly appalling condition if you put yourself in my hands and do exactly as I tell you.”
“But—”
“Aysgarth, do you want to survive this crisis or don’t you?”
“What a damn silly, time-wasting, half-baked question!”
“Then sit down again in that chair and let’s try to stop you bleeding to death before you reach Aidan’s operating table in London.”
4
I had just collapsed in my chair when there was a knock on the door and Jennings, the vice-principal, looked in.
“Excuse me, Jon—oh, good morning, Archdeacon!—but I just wanted to make sure you were here. It’s almost eight o’clock.” As if on cue the bell in the chapel began to toll for Matins.
“I’d be grateful if you’d take the service for me, Frank. There’s an urgent matter I have to discuss with the Archdeacon.”
That disposed of Jennings and Matins. Darrow was now free until the service of Holy Communion—“Mass,” as he usually called it in his Anglo-Catholic fashion.
“The first thing you must do,” he said as soon as Jennings had left the room, “is list your morning’s engagements so that I can cancel them. What were you planning to do after this interview?”
“Obviously I must go home, break the news about the baby to my younger children—the older boys are away at school, of course—and embark on my day’s work. I must see my curates at nine, Dr. Ottershaw at ten—and then at eleven I have a diocesan committee meeting about—”
“When will you return to the hospital?”
“They told me not to go back before noon. So as soon as the committee meeting finishes I must go to the hospital, see my wife, see the almoner, see the baby—” I stopped. A long silence followed. Then from a long way away I heard my voice say: “I can’t face it.”
“Can’t face seeing the baby?”
“No, that’s all right. I’m not bereaved so I won’t feel anything. I can endure the baby. It’s my wife I can’t face.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“None of your damned business.”
“You feel guilty, perhaps? Guilty that she’s suffering through bearing your child?”
“Oh, stop making wild guesses and trying to pass them off as psychic insights!”
“Maybe you feel guilty because you wish the baby was alive and she was dead.”
I sprang to my feet. My chair keeled over. In a shaking voice I said: “You sinister magician! Go to hell—I’m walking out!”
“Aysgarth”—in a flash he was barring my path to the door—“do you really want to destroy yourself? You’ve got to face your wife this morning and I’ve got to help you do it. I can cancel the curates, the Bishop and every diocesan committee meeting on Eternity Street, but I can’t cancel your wife.”
“I tell you I can’t see her—I can’t—”
“You must. If you don’t turn up at that hospital this morning the scandal’s going to begin. Your marriage is already the most discussed partnership in the diocese. Possibly it’s the most discussed marriage in the Church of England—it’s not every day an archdeacon marries a society girl—and any adverse gossip about the two of you now is going to be picked up and magnified. Then the gutter press will rush in, and do I really have to spell out what will happen if the more unscrupulous journalists decide your marriage has run aground? Aysgarth, you’ve got to get it into your head that you’re absolutely on the brink of catastrophe and one false step could send you over the edge into the abyss!”
It was impossible to argue with him; that indeed was how I myself saw my crisis. Hardly aware of what I was doing I turned aside from the door and moved to the window. With horror I saw the outline of the Cathedral was blurred.
“All the familiar landmarks are disappearing,” I said. “How can I find my way when there are no landmarks?” I waited for an answer but Darrow was silent, and now the Cathedral was a mere haze of light and shade, as indistinct as an Impressionist painting. Fearful of showing any trace of weakness, appalled at the thought that I might betray unacceptable emotion in the presence of a man I disliked, I once more resorted to rage to keep an unbearable truth at bay.
“Why am I being tormented like this?” I shouted, and as I spoke I slammed my fist down on the surface of the table. “Why has this happened to me?”
Darrow at once threw me a lifeline by implying that the torment could be eased. “Aidan will help you discern the answer to that question,” he said, “but at present you’re quite beyond discernment Now, Aysgarth”—I was aware of him moving back to the table—“you must try to be still. In your distress you’re making so much noise that you wouldn’t hear a communication from God even if He were transformed into an anthropomorphic deity who could thunder instructions to you in impeccable BBC English. The way forward at this moment, I assure you, is not to thrash around making a noise. What you have to do is to listen—to listen to the silence and be calm.”
I blinked rapidly, pretended to rub a fleck of grit from one eye and collapsed yet again at the table. Meanwhile Darrow was moving his chair so that he could sit closer to me. The silence lengthened but eventually I felt strong enough to look at him. He stared back. He had an angular face with prominent cheekbones, a tough jaw and a high forehead. His eyes were a peculiarly clear shade of grey, and I knew, as I noted their clarity, that he was trying to will me into a calmer state. Damned witchdoctor! He thought of himself as a healer, of course, like Christ. He would. I seethed with irritation as I contemplated such arrogance, but the next moment my mind had forgotten Darrow’s shady parlour tricks. The image of Christ, having drifted so idly into my mind, was now expanding; I found I was thinking of him moving among the sick, the oppressed, the tormented; I imagined him saying: “Your faith has made you whole.”
“It’s all a unity,” I said. “It’s all one.” It took me a moment to realise I had spoken my father’s words aloud, and in confusion I tried to gloss over this apparently irrelevant quotation. “I mean I want to be all one,” I said, “and not torn apart by my troubles.”
“You want to be whole.”
I froze. “Why use the word ‘whole’?”
“Why not? It was a word favoured by Our Lord, wasn’t it? Whenever he moved among the sick—”
“Quite.” I wrote off the apparent synchronisation of our thoughts as a coincidence and finally managed to relax.
“Feeling better?” said Darrow.
To my surprise I realised that I was. Grunting a cautious assent I stole a furtive glance at the Cathedral and found to my profound relief that the outline was clear.
“Very well,” said Darrow, satisfied that I was no longer trying to climb every wall in the room, “let’s try and build up your strength for this crucial interview with your wife. I’ll find you a corner where you can snatch a few hours’ sleep.”
“But what on earth are you going to say to—”
“Leave everyone to me—I’ll deal with them. All you’ve got to do is deal with yourself by recuperating as far as possible from your sleepless night—and before you try to argue, may I remind you that the care of your health is a religious duty,” said Darrow austerely in the kind of voice which made it plain that no further argument was possible.
I saw no alternative but to allow him to lead me from the room. Once Darrow started dealing with people he was like a tank; I felt as if I’d been mown flat. Trudging along in his wake I was taken upstairs to a bedroom which belonged to an absent ordinand and told to lock myself in as soon as I was alone.
“You think he might come back?” I said confused.
“No, he’s attending a funeral in Birmingham. I was merely worried in case a zealous cleaning-woman chose to wander in with her duster … Well, don’t just stand there, Aysgarth! Take off your shoes and collar, adopt a horizontal position on that bed and at least make an effort to rest even if you can’t manage to sleep. I’ll come back at half-past eleven with some food, and at quarter to twelve we’ll leave for the hospital.”
“You’re coming with me?”
“Of course. Did you really think I’d leave you to face this nightmare alone?”
“But your work—your classes—your appointments—”
“I’ll deal with them. No need for you to worry.”
“But I really can’t disrupt your life like this just because I’m currently a little under the weather—”
“Aysgarth, will you kindly stop pretending this dire emergency is a mere passing inconvenience?”
He left. Locking the door obediently, I shed my shoes and collar, lay down on the bed and prepared myself for three hours of tormented solitude.
But I slept.
5
I slept, and into my dreams walked Uncle Willoughby, shouting: “This is a dire emergency—and this is where you start to pay!” I knew he wanted to kill me with the bloodstained axe he held in his hand, but I ran away from him, I ran all the way home, I ran upstairs to the nursery, where I picked up the sledgehammer which was lying beside a cradle filled with dead babies, and as the door of the room burst open I smashed his skull to pulp. I smashed and I smashed and I smashed but suddenly I realised with horror that my victim wasn’t Uncle Willoughby. It was my mother. In terror I knew I had to cover up my mistake, I knew I had to pound the corpse to pieces so that I could sweep it under the rug and ring down the curtain, but the body refused to disintegrate and the moment I stopped wielding my sledgehammer it began to come back to life. In panic I tried to raise the sledgehammer again but now it was too heavy for me to lift, and as I wrestled futilely with that leaden weight I suddenly became aware of Uncle Willoughby creeping up behind me and swinging back his axe and—
I sat bolt upright, gasping and sweating, to find myself in the little bedroom beneath the eaves of the Theological College. Beyond the window the sun was still shining on the Cathedral from a radiant cloudless sky.
After a while it occurred to me to glance at my watch and to my relief I saw it was almost time for Darrow to arrive. I felt ready for action. No more idle dozes and ridiculous nightmares. The moment had come to face the next stage of my ordeal.
In despair I tried to imagine how I could survive my visit to the hospital.
6
“Let’s try to decide what approach you’re going to take with your wife,” said Darrow, offering me a Marmite sandwich and a tall glass of water. “The key to surviving a difficult interview is to be well prepared. Are you capable of saying something as mundane as: ‘Darling, I’m so sorry you’ve been through this terrible experience but thank God you’re still alive,’ or would even that be too much for you?”
“No, I think I could manage that. But I don’t think I could manage it for very long.”
“Could you last five minutes?”
“I might. It depends on her. If she’s well enough there’ll be no difficulty because she’ll quickly take over the conversation.”
“If she’s not well enough to talk much there’s still no difficulty, because the nurses won’t let you stay long. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll see that whatever happens you’re hauled out after five minutes. If you feel you can’t last that long, say that you have to go to the lavatory and I’ll make sure a nurse will be waiting to terminate the visit when you get back.”
I said in despair: “How in heaven’s name am I going to get through the next thirty years of married life?”
“Don’t think of the next thirty years. Just concentrate on getting through today.”
“I simply don’t understand how I could have wound up like this—”
“Don’t think of that either—all speculation can wait till later … When did you first realise your marriage was a mistake?”
“Some time ago, but I thought I could make it come right so long as I had a prize to chase. So long as she was capable of being converted into a prize, I was fine.”
“You mean you finally gave up trying to convert her?”
“No, I mean I finally won her completely.”
“And then you didn’t want her any more?”
“Well, there was nothing left to chase, you see, and there’s not much you can do with a prize after you’ve won it except keep it on the mantelshelf—and sometimes that’s fine, of course, sometimes one gets great pleasure and satisfaction from keeping a prize on the mantelshelf to remind one of one’s luck in possessing such a perfect object, but the trouble with Dido is—”
“She’s very far from being a perfect object. Yes, I do see. A most baffling dilemma … And how long have you been chasing the prizes?”
“Oh, forever. It’s the way to get on, isn’t it? It’s the way to stay out of the pit.”
“What pit?”
“The failure pit. The one where the coffin is.”
“Failure equals death? Winning the prizes equals life?”
“Yes. But—” I broke off. My memory was regurgitating the famous declaration of Jesus according to St. Matthew: “He that findeth his life shall lose it and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” Covering my face with my hands I said in horror: “I’ve won everything I’ve ever wanted—but I’ve lost all the way along the line.”
“Not quite.”
“But I’ve wound up in the pit—I’m alongside the coffin—”
“But not in it.”
“Yes, but—”
“You’re going to fight your way out of that pit, Aysgarth. You’re going to escape from that coffin.”
“I don’t see how I can ever—”
“Put on your collar and shoes, dust yourself down and fix your eyes resolutely on survival. Survival’s your new prize. Start chasing.”
Reaching for my collar without another word, I began to drag myself painfully to the starting-line for my next race.
10
“It might be impossible to make sense of life: life was not worth living until the attempt to do so had been made.”
CHARLES E. RAVEN
A WANDERER’S WAY
1
“DARLING STEPHEN—”
“Dido—my poor little love—”
“Oh Stephen, I feel so useless, such a failure, not even able to produce a proper baby—”
“All that matters is that you’re going to be all right.”
“I could still die of post-partum complications—”
“But you won’t. I absolutely forbid it,” I said, and smiled at her as I gripped h
er hand.
“Oh Stephen, I love you so much—I wrote you a letter—”
“I’ve read it. Darling, I thought it was the most beautiful letter any husband could ever receive.”
“You were only supposed to read it if I died!”
“Yes, but isn’t it nice that you’re still alive to hear me tell you how wonderful it was?”
We laughed. The interview was zipping along with the quick-fire verve of an I.T.M.A. script, each character trotting out the type of lines which the audience had come to expect, but I felt as if the script was shaking in my hands, and in my memory I heard Alex saying again and again: “How we all lie to one another!”
“Darling Stephen!” Dido was saying passionately. “If only we could pretend this whole disaster had never happened! You won’t believe this, but just before you arrived they tried to show it to me. It. The dead body. My dear! Can you imagine anyone being quite so insensitive? I started screaming straight away. Merry was right—I should have had the baby in London and not in this provincial medical dustbin—well, I would have had it in London if I hadn’t been so worried that people would say I was an awful wife, leaving you on your own all over again. I’m sure that if I’d been in a nice smart London clinic they wouldn’t have tried to push a corpse under my nose when all I wanted was to pretend my dreadful failure never happened …” And she began to cry.
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