Aelred's Sin

by Lawrence Scott

  I have made myself J. M.’s scribe. Inscriber. What of me? What of my life? It’s been changed.

  I wake from a dream in which I am back at Malgretoute and an old black man tells me he remembers his father’s father telling him that they hanged a black man from the silk cotton tree in the gully. They used to do that, he said. I wake to the darkness of the copper beeches outside my window. So red, they are purple, so purple, they are black, J. M. used to say. They rattle their empty branches. I wake worrying about Malgretoute. Krishna was on the phone yesterday. I have to go back home.

  There is flame on the horizon.

  From the window of the upper lodge room I saw it all again: the abbey, the valley, the spinney with the pond, the copse, the holly and laurel bushes, the copper beeches, the horse chestnuts. This is where I first learnt these names. Other words, other echoes. Ash. Ashton. Ashtown. Ashes. I have heard it said that they burnt down the first house at Malgretoute.

  They burn it down, yes, the same man from my dream said.

  I see the walk at the edge of Ashton Park. The one which leads to the quarry, that excavation. Time has altered things.

  His name is not Aelred. J. M., my brother. But he grows in my mind, his pain and his visions, his love. So, that friend of his, that man, Benedict, we buried this week. So, so Ted, so those spirits from the past. So Aelred of Rievaulx, so Jordan, the letter J as clear as light carved in the moss on the Christian cross. So Edward. Time and memory. Memory and time.

  Now these letters which tell their tale. I place them side by side. I sort them out, the ones I find here, the ones I had back from Benedict. For a conclusion. How to reach a conclusion to this roman, this romance, this sad love story of our time.

  Abbaye de St Bernard

  St Severin

  Toulouse 29

  France

  15 September 1964

  My dearest Aelred,

  In order to avoid any danger of censorship, which would only exacerbate the situation at home and give Father Abbot more to deal with than he can understand and cope with at the moment, I am writing to you, poste restante, as you suggested. I regret we have to do this, but at the moment I think it is for the best. That is what I want for both of us. I too wish that we lived in a world where these feelings could be expressed and understood, where our love could shine. But it is not so, and maybe it has been given to us and our time to make that happen, as so much is changing, so much understood anew.

  My dear friend, I want to say at once how much I miss you. But I also want to say that I think that this separation is for the good. When Father Abbot put it to me, I agreed to it for us. Yes, it fitted in with the plans for my study, and I must say the school here is very good. There is a great group of monks from different abbeys in different parts of the world, and you would so enjoy the discussions about the different interpretations of monastic life which are being talked about and experimented with. The monks from America are particularly interesting and there are some Protestant monks from a new abbey in France. This school of theology is truly trying to be ecumenical.

  But don’t let me go off the point. The reason for writing is to draw close to you. This separation, these words, these letters are our new way, a truly good way to continue our original ideal of chastity and love. I feel I love you now more than ever. I feel a tremendous freedom in that love, and in being able to say it here, so openly, and knowing that you can read it, and reflect on it, and have it by you to help you through the difficult time you are having.

  I am so happy that you have come to an accommodation with Father Abbot, and that things have continued to be peaceful since I left you. I am so happy to hear that Father Abbot has agreed to your profession in December. I know your vocation is secure and you must nurture it.

  These have been the pains of growing, of finding ourselves. I feel I have grown tremendously in an understanding of myself and our love. It is you who have been so brave in expressing your feelings and risking yourself. Many others keep things hidden all their life and do not grow, and then, I agree with you, those repressed feelings manifest themselves in destructive ways. To know who one is is a tremendous freedom. The philosopher’s injunction: know thyself.

  Oh, I am so happy writing to you, talking to you, and I long for your next letter. With these words I look into your eyes, I touch you, I kiss you, my love.

  Yes, a year is a long time, but it will fly by when our lives are so full of new discoveries. And, as I said before, this separation is God’s way of helping us to strengthen our chastity. That dangerous chastity which we embarked upon.

  I think of Edward too, and know the danger for you. I plead with you to keep your eyes on your goal, December and your profession. For Edward I hope that he will complete his novitiate and eventually join you in professing his vows.

  You must try to see things from the Abbot’s point of view, understand how difficult it must be for him - all these changes in the church and in the world. I think he has shown great insight in soliciting the help of an analyst, now that I think about it from here. I’ve been talking to other monks about this and they think there is much to be gained in self-knowledge of this kind. This will be good for you and I look forward to hearing all about it, as much as you feel able to share.

  Dear friend, I must leave you now, and in doing so, I embrace you with love and offer you peace in Christ.

  Your dear friend,

  Benedict

  Poste Restante

  Bristol

  22 September 1964

  Benedict, my dearest,

  So excited to get your letter. Could not believe it was there when the clerk went and looked in the poste restante pigeon-hole. I feel like a naughty schoolboy. I read it and read it just to feel you near. Ashton Park is desolate without you. I miss you terribly all the time. Yes, there is Edward. But we have no comfort or peace in each other. We have to avoid each other and see each other with others, and the pain of that is not worth thinking of. I am going along with Father Abbot. He is kind and he has helped. I will try the analysis, which is why I am here today and able to get your letter - the best part of this whole thing. I feel so depressed at the moment. Dr Graveson says that it is to be expected. I am exhausted. I am exhausted all day. I can hardly get up for Matins and miss it very often and have to go and see the Abbot. It is not him but the other senior monks in the council who will not like that in the lead up to my profession which I am excited about, yet I do wonder about it and about carrying on. The Abbot and Dr Graveson say I must not make any decisions at the moment. Sometimes I feel so cruel to Edward, so cruel. We are very careful though. Nothing has happened again - not that I don’t feel all those feelings still, and I know this can pain you. I don’t want to cause you any pain, any more than I already have, dearest. I love it that I can write and say what I want and unburden myself to you. You must let me do that because there is no one else. I am so happy for you, but it was cruel for the Abbot to move you so soon, so soon when I needed you so much. But you are better off without me. I hope this analysis will help. At the moment it makes me feel so terrible. I spend the whole day in the city just roaming around till my appointment, and then I go to bookshops after. I know so little of England, so little of this is known to me, cloistered at Ashton Park. I like to go to the port and I have found a cemetery that I like to go and sit in. Excuse me babbling on. Not a paragraph even. I want to finish this in the cemetery where I am sitting now and post it before I rush for the train.

  I read your words over and over. I kiss you with this dearest, dearest friend, the only one I have in the whole world.

  Aelred

  Benedict,

  I hasten to write again to say I am sorry I wrote such an emotional letter. Not saying anything. What is there to say? I think one thing one day and another day something quite different. I want to be calm. This is supposed to be calm. I am either very excited or very depressed. Dr Graveson says that is normal. I am not sure about anything any more. I am not sure ab
out my parents, about my faith, about monastic life, about who I am or what I should do. Dr Graveson has his own interpretation, and he tells me I must not read any theory. I do find it interesting reading Freud and Jung. He says that if I fill my head with theory I will read things into my situation. I have found a good library, and that’s another place I visit if it’s raining and I can’t sit in the cemetery or go to the port. Dr Graveson talks of neurosis. I must say he is trying hard to get me to sort things out so that I can continue at Ashton Park, but I think this sorting out will eventually pose the question whether I should stay here or go on. He says that I am a classical example of an Oedipal situation, an over-loving mother and an absent father. I say fine, that fits the description. Understanding it does not make me feel differently. Either I feel happy when I come out of his office, or I feel angry, or depressed, or flat. I know what I feel because I feel it. I understand more. If this is understanding. What isn’t happening yet is the meshing, I suppose: understanding and feeling. Dr Graveson says he wants me to get to the point where I can choose and choose for the right reasons. Dearest, here I am again just going on about myself and not a thought about you. None of this understanding makes me feel differently for you. Or Edward. Dr Graveson does not listen too carefully about what I say about you and Edward. He says things will fall into place. I must go. Keep well and write to me and tell me you love me. Still no paragraphs.

  Love, love, love,

  Aelred

  Abbaye de Saint Bernard

  St Severin

  Toulouse 29

  France

  2 October 1964

  My dear Aelred,

  I look forward to your letters so much. You sound as if you are making a great deal of progress. It is hard. Any self-examination will be hard. I too am making a kind of analysis. I don’t think I need it formally; anyway, it is so expensive.

  But I am looking at all that has happened again. I am certain of my vocation, I am certain of my affection for you, but I do want it to be lived out within the vows of chastity. Those needs I have for sexual love I will accept, but I want to sublimate them into my contemplative vocation and my ministry when I become a priest. I am beginning to look forward to my ordination. I wonder what Dr Graveson thinks about sublimation - taking that sexual energy and utilising it for a greater task.

  My theology lectures and seminars are very interesting, and I am working very hard. Father Abbot would like me to come back home for Christmas and your profession. He was so good in thinking that I would like to be there. He is a good man really. But I don’t think I should, as it is such a short break and I will lose ground gained in settling down here. So, much as I would love to see you, I am going to decide against the offer. I also think it is too soon for us to meet again. We must see this separation in a creative way, as a creative chastity. In the summer I am sure things will be quite different. I don’t mind you unburdening yourself to me. That is what friendship is about. Write to me and tell me all that you are doing and thinking.

  Your dearest

  Benedict

  Abbaye de St Bernard

  12 December 1964

  Dear Aelred,

  I have not heard from you for weeks. Father Abbot wrote for Christmas and mentioned that he found you so mature. He thought you were benefiting enormously from the analysis. He mentioned your profession. Congratulations and greetings in Christ. But I am worried you have not written. I hope all is well. This will also be my wishes for Christmas. I hope that Christ will be reborn in you and bring you to that clarity of thought you seek so earnestly. Do write soon.

  Your dear friend

  Benedict

  12 January 1965

  Oh Benedict,

  Life has been so awful. I am sorry I did not write before Christmas, or write about my profession, a beautiful ceremony, but I felt flat. I think I wanted it to transform me and it hasn’t. The singing and the liturgy were beautiful, but I wonder for how long it will continue to mean something for me.

  I have a lot to say but find it so hard to express it all. I don’t know how to start to tell you what has been happening. It is so sad, so terrible, so - so that I can’t imagine how my life has become like this. Father Abbot does not know half of what goes on in me or in his monastery. Yes, I am doing fine. Yes, I am mature. I wanted to make my profession, so of course I behaved myself as much as I could, but I wonder what I am doing. But I will go along with the analysis till, as I hope I will, I feel better and can make a clearer decision.

  It is Edward. I feel so terrible for him. I have deserted him. That is how it seems to him. Of course we are kept apart. We have to be very careful in our meetings. I am getting help but I don’t feel that he is. He needs help too and I don’t know how to help.

  Such terrible things happen sometimes that I feel so distressed. I feel so heartbroken. I wish you were here. This will hurt you, but what can I do? I don’t feel it would be proper to talk to Dr Graveson about it. Though I might. Then he will sound so calm and dismiss it as immaturity. Immaturity is very hurtful, I can tell you. If it is immaturity.

  One of the things I do with Dr Graveson when I have run out of dreams, is interpret pictures which he gives me or to paint pictures. Yes, I have paints and I just paint whatever comes into my head. I can’t really paint like an artist, but that does not matter. Then we interpret what I paint. It brings up a lot of things. Now, Edward is quite a good artist. He was very good at school, so I thought, why does he not do the same? He wants to talk to me. He wants to show his love for me sexually. It is so strange: that was the last thing in his mind at the beginning, and now it is foremost. I wish he could have analysis too, but Father Justin says the monastery can’t afford it and Edward would have to be nearer to making his profession, and that is not certain as yet.

  I feel so drawn to him, yet I can’t let myself respond. This is terrible. Sometimes when I enter the library and no one is there, Edward is there and he is standing there naked, looking at me. This happens at night or in the early morning. It happens when we are alone in the dormitory. It distresses me so much that I can’t even speak to him about it. But now I have: I have told him it must stop. We can’t carry on like this and I asked him to do some drawings about his feelings. Oh, Benedict, this will hurt you, but who else can I tell? He drew the most beautiful sketches of two men. They were of him and me making love, doing those things which we did in the barn. He says that he cannot draw us as chaste. I cry when I think of his pain, when I think of how there is not a world for us to live in and love each other like this. For if there were I would choose it. I think so. But I will not make any decisions now.

  Since the pictures, which reminded me of Ted, but above all of that night when we existed in another world in the barn, since then, I talk to Edward regularly now; I must. I must take the risk. I have elected with him that dangerous chastity which we had. I must give him this. I must give myself this, and I have reintroduced him to Aelred of Rievaulx and the theology of spiritual friendship. We find it hard but we are keeping our vows, or those vows I must keep. Please don’t be jealous. This is real charity. I think Edward will leave. He talks like this. I try. I don’t know what will happen. In a way the monastery, the community, cannot help when this kind of thing occurs. Either you’re in or you’re out. It’s sad.

  I wonder what the world is like?

  All my love,

  Aelred.

  St Bernard

  14 February 1966

  Dear Aelred,

  Please be careful with your vocation. If Edward decides to leave, you must know that you have done all you can to help. But you must take care of your own commitment, your vows. For psychological reasons you found your profession flat, but nevertheless there is a reality and meaning to those vows and they must be taken seriously. I know you know this. I trust you. I am not jealous but I fear for that dangerous chastity. I feel that when I return to the abbey and we are together again it will not be a dangerous chastity but an achieved one. We wil
l have achieved it.

  You ask about the world. The world is a hard place. I go into the city here and I see things which make a life of virtue difficult, many temptations, many occasions for sin, but some people are called to live in the world, and endanger themselves. Please, my love.

  Your dear friend,

  Benedict.

  18 June 1966

  Dear Benedict,

  Edward left Ashton Park this morning. It is a day of terrible sadness for me. I think he has made the right decision; that is the only consolation. I feel desolate for myself and I am so fearful of the world for him; and part of me has left following him into the city. We have arranged to meet when I go to see Dr Graveson. He will try to look for a job in Bristol, so that he can live there and we can continue to meet. I know you will say this is so dangerous, but I must. I see no alternative. I have never seen anyone suffer such mental anguish in trying to contain his feelings for me, and trying with all sincerity to make a decision about his vocation. He was so good. He does not want me to leave and yet I know nothing would give him more joy than for me to join him. That which can give the most joy can give the most guilt and he says that he would feel so guilty if I left. He would feel responsible. Of course he would not be. I have talked to Dr Graveson and I know I must make the final decision about my vows quite apart from Edward. Yet I can’t get him out of my mind and all he has to face in the world.

  Yes, I do wonder about the world that I left so young and did not know. I wish you were here and I wished you could have been here to talk to Edward. Anyway, that is the end of a chapter. Things are more peaceful in a way because I found it so difficult helping Edward in the last two months.