“Jesus of Nazareth may have existed but was he Christ or whatever that really means. There have been other messiahs. It’s just that Christianity chose to follow Jesus. It was convenient at the time” Andrew frowned. He contemplated his faith and how recently he had found it easier to walk away rather than stay and defend his beliefs in the face of constant challenges. He said,
“Your apostasy has gone too far and you are insulting my religion.”
“Why? I’m not insulting anyone’s beliefs. You were the one that accused me of blasphemy. All I’m doing is explaining myself and offering you an alternative theory. Surely your faith isn’t so weak that it can’t stand the slightest of examination or criticism?”
“I doubt you’ll say anything I haven’t heard before.” Bull shrugged, he glanced down at the sea. He watched a shoal of jellyfish float by under the boat. Finally, he said,
“My gran was from a small community in Alsace, called Col du Donon. She was proud of her Celtic heritage. She was a Druid and worshiped their gods. She was hounded for her beliefs and driven from her village by Christians like you.”
Andrew imagined a light in his mind dispersing the shadows of doubt. He remembered a time when he was a member of the Young Earth Debaters Society. They had turned up at a Humanist meeting and argued their case for Christianity. He had stated at the time that not everything could be explained by science and reason and was applauded for it. Later they marched to Kelso Market Square to burn Richard Dawkin books. Andrew tried to summon up some inspiration. He turned to Bull and said,
“So what are you saying? That everything I believe in is based on lies and that I should become a druid and worship the sun?” Bull sighed,
“No, my point is that the message has been lost in translation. In my opinion, people who follow religion are too ready to believe, without question. You’re referring to reproduced and re-translated writings scribbled down thousands of years ago. Why do you think the Bible has been translated and reformed into so many versions: to suit a particular agenda? It’s not just Christians. All faiths are immersed in a form of tribalism, intolerant to one another’s beliefs. It’s all to do with the way it’s interpreted and dressed up – it’s petty and retrospective and that’s what has become important to the followers, and that’s why I don’t prescribe to it. At its fundamentalist level it appeals to the gullible and at the sub intellectual, it thrives on fear and paranoia to fuel its popularity. That’s why religion is so preoccupied with children’s education, because it doesn’t stand up to questioning. Even at a basic level. If you do question it, followers like you just don’t want to know, or worse, they get reactionary. Thankfully most of you are a bit more rational and just switch off and bury your heads in the sand and say something really supercilious like, I feel sorry for your kind.” Andrew shook his head from side to side. He examined the palms then the backs of his hands. He took his lure from his pocket. He unravelled it and began to fish.
“I do feel sorry for your kind. You talk about evidence but where is the evidence that God doesn’t exist?”
“I don’t have to provide evidence. I haven’t devised a massive mind blowing theory and asked people to change their lives and follow it. If I did, I would take the precaution to back it up with some facts and not base it solely on a supposition.”
“There is evidence. It’s called the Bible. It was written by God.”
“It was written by men, and not very enlightened ones at that.”
“I was taught that God created the heavens and the earth, and that he was responsible for everything, seen and unseen. He created me; he even created you, although why and for what reason, I’ll never understand. He created the sea and the creatures that live in the sea. He even created the vengeful storm that nearly killed us and the wave that capsized the ship. God is the engineer behind everything.”
“I think you will find that seismic activity brought on by fracking in the North Atlantic caused the wave and the storm was caused by a differential in atmospheric pressure, but I’m not a meteorologist so I might be wrong.” Andrew considered Bull’s statement. He said,
“You’re right, you’re not a meteorologist and even they get their predictions wrong and they’re scientists. I wouldn’t put all my faith in science. They’ve been proven wrong before and not all academics in the scientific field would agree with you.” Bull replied,
“Ok, say you’re right, and God does exist, so he just doesn’t get involved? He creates everything you say, but in that case he creates viruses and diseases? He just watches while his people starve to death, get flooded out their homes and go to war in his name. He just shrugs his shoulders. A bit ambivalent, this God of yours isn’t he?”
“You are just trying to provoke me, but I’m not going to let you. You’ve got your opinions and I have mine. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Just stop and think first before you accuse someone of blasphemy, they may not share your beliefs for Christ’s sake.”
From his pocket, Andrew retrieved his lure then cast it back into the water. He thought of Simon Peter, the fisherman who became Christ’s apostle and the rock on which Christianity was built. He was martyred for his beliefs in Rome, thought Andrew. Bull stared out towards the sea. For a moment he thought he saw a ship on the horizon but he concluded that it was most probably another dark cloud. He said,
“I can’t help feeling that the wave was on account of fracking in the Atlantic. You probably think it was God punishing us.”
“Why has there always got to be someone to blame? Do you apostates always have to cultivate a blame culture?”
“I think mankind should take the blame. I don’t want to sound misanthropic but we’re getting what we deserve. All the waste, all the deforestation, all the pollution and the greenhouse gases we have spewed out over the years. It has all come back to haunt us.”
“This has nothing to do with global warming. Anyway, there’s just as much scientific evidence supporting the theory that climate change is a natural cyclic phenomenon and man’s contribution is negligible.”
Bull narrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment,
“What was that? Another one of your brain farts? Look around you Sherlock, or are you blind. Have you been living in a cave for the last century? The research you’re talking about is nearly always funded by the fossil fuel industry and undertaken by the same tiny minority of discredited scientists, despite evidence from an army of reputable climatologists. The nonsense these phoney scientists purport is promoted by a media which is controlled by corporations who have a vested interest in spreading doubt and economic fear in the public’s mind. Politicians won’t sign up for any measures that might mean the public having to swallow some bitter medicine. It’s not a vote winner, so we’re stuck on a ledge, waiting to take a tumble into the abyss.”
“Have you quite finished?”
“No, I haven’t. The last time the world experienced such a dramatic climate shift, it was a gradual process, over thousands of years. This change has happened over a couple of hundred years.”
“You Green Covenanters just love to preach don’t you. You never get tired of seizing the moral high ground when the opportunity arises.”
“I’m not being self righteous - I leave all that to you monotheist types. I’m talking about the facts. The world is being flooded by the most powerful storm surges the planet has seen since records began, sea levels are rising and the poor, who can’t afford proper flood defences, are feeling the brunt. People are starving, they are dying, and they are being made homeless. Science aside, I thought a Christian like you would be a bit concerned with that.” Bull thought of his father and the damage to the family home back in Salford. Andrew offered Bull a rare smile and said,
“God looks after his own.” Bull shrugged his shoulders and said,
“What does that even mean? This is the myopic religious attitude I’m talking about – do nothing - it’s the will of God and ultimately he will save us. You’re rel
igion is designed to welcome death, to even look forward to it as a salvation.”
“Perhaps when we get to shore you can find a tree and hug it.” Bull toyed with his Green Covenanter’s bracelet.
“Is that the best you can do Sherlock? You don’t have to be part of the GM to notice that the earth’s climate has changed. All you need is a pair of eyes and a brain to process the evidence. It’s all around us. If we’re not careful our species will become extinct.”
“I suppose the dolphins will inherit the earth. The earth has flooded before my friend and mankind has survived.”
“You mean after the last ice age?”
“No, after God sent a flood. It’s in the book of Genesis.”
Bull’s head descended into his open hands. He seized his opportunity to laugh.
“Noah’s Arc? You believe in all that guff?” Andrew scowled. His eyes bored into Bull head.
“I don’t see what’s so funny. God was angered by mankind’s wickedness and he sent a great deluge to teach man a lesson, but seeing that Noah was righteous, he warned him and told him to save his family and all the animals. After the floods subsided, Noah was the first man to till the soil.”
“Don’t you think that Noah’s Arc would have to be the size of an oil tanker to accommodate all the land bound animals of the world? Don’t you think it’s just an apocryphal tale that isn’t meant to be taken literally? Not least by educated adults? Well, there is one moral similarity with the story and modern earth, but it depends on your definition of wicked.”
“I tell you, it’s happening again, the world will end sooner than you think and there will be a judgement.”
“Oh, fuck me, you’re not a member of those whacked Lords of the New Church are you? Bull laughed again. “And you think God will only allow people like you into his kingdom, the very ones that sat back and watched passively as mankind’s greed and destructiveness brought about its own demise? You honestly think there’s a reward waiting for you? You’re deluded mate.”
“The world will end. We are tied to this outcome. It’s just a matter of when. Let’s change the subject. Tell me more about your grandmother.” Bull scratched his beard and said,
“She was a druid and practiced the old Celtic religion. She believed that within nature there were spirits and we could connect and intermingle with them. But as soon as people in the village got wind of her activities, the family got a visit from the local parish priest. She spent the following year in a convent being force fed religion on a daily basis. She escaped and went to live in Scotland, at the Findhorn Foundation where she met my grandfather who was over visiting from Ireland.”
“You’re a bit of a mongrel aren’t you?” Bull looked at his empty bowl that he had just licked cleaned. He smiled, then said,
“Doesn’t your religious sect believe that the world is going to end this December?”
“You’re just being facetious now.”
Andrew stood up. He opened the hatch door and climbed into the quiet sanctuary of the cabin. He sat on the centre bench, rubbing the temples of his head trying to stave off an emerging migraine. A pain throbbed behind his eyes. Was God punishing me for crumbling in the face of adversity, he thought. He had intended not to talk about God or his faith. There was a point in his life when he would quote from the Bible, feeling that the passages would act like a magic spell to silence the critics, but now the words seemed hollow.
He was thankful to be alone in the dim light of the cabin. All I need is silence. Silence to think, silence to relax and silence to pray, he thought. He cast his mind back to his upbringing in the Scottish Borders. His Grandfather had played a large part in his religious upbringing and when he died, he was devastated. After the funeral his ashes had been taken back to be scattered at the foot of the family oak tree which had dominated the grounds of the house for hundreds of years. The oak was part of the family emblem, the rest being some unrecognisable type of bird which Andrew’s brother, Graham said was a pigeon.
Campbell Archibald Douglas Holmes was laid to rest under the tree believing that his ashes would find their way into the roots, and by osmosis or in some other mystical process he would become a living part of the towering oak. He envisaged himself standing tall, overlooking the old granite house, shedding his leaves every autumn and keeping guard every night. He told Andrew that occasionally he would allow the odd raven to perch on one of his branches, as long as it promised not to shit on his favourite grandson.
After the trip back from the crematoria, they all stood around the tree while the Minister delivered his eulogy. A piper played a lament and Andrew was tasked with the job of scattering the ashes. As he opened the urn, a ferocious gust of wind lifted the incinerated remains of Campbell into the air and dispersed them onto the raised vegetable bed. As Andrew ran after the plume of ash, he tripped and dropped the remaining contents to the ground. He desperately tried to scoop the ashes back into the urn, but the rain had washed them away. When he looked up he was greeted with horrified expressions from the mourners.
For years to come Andrew was haunted by the incident. In his mind’s eye he could still see the silent contempt etched across his father’s face, and the tears of laughter that rolled down the cheeks of his brother, who had to be restrained and comforted by his aunts who presumed he was inconsolable with grief. As Graham fell to the ground, hands clasped tightly over his mouth, he was gripped in a vice of silent hilarity which threatened to split his sides. Andrew’s mother looked away in disgust and consoled her mother in law. Awkwardly, she pulled the widow’s head to her shoulder in a vain attempt to muffle the sound of Graham’s hysterical howling, coming from behind the oak tree.
The following autumn, when the family came round to his grandmother’s for dinner, Andrew was convinced that he could see his grandfather’s scowling face on a potato that the gardener had dug up from the vegetable plot. Graham muttered at the dinner table that Campbell had turned out to be a “great fertilizer, if the tatties were anything to go by.” Andrew’s mother referred to the funeral episode with a shake of the head, “It was an invidious ending to such a lovely service.” At that point she had looked derisively at Andrew who bowed his head in deep shame.
As the years drew on Andrew subjected himself to a form of enforced isolation. After three years of working with his father, in the family business, Andrew left to study business management at Edinburgh University. This brought about a large ironic smile to Graham’s face when he told him of his plans. His brother had always presumed he would become a church minister. Four years later, Andrew began working for an Edinburgh based finance company. Even the years of university socialising did nothing to quell his awkwardness, and his introvert behaviour didn’t go unnoticed by his work colleagues.
Joining the Territorial Army focused his mind, but it was being recruited as a Filter by the Defence Intelligence Committee that provided him with a true purpose in life. After two years of training in Cheltenham, he was introduced to Ashley Louisa Maxwell, a daughter of a wealthy philanthropist and donator to the Green Movement. He was immediately captivated by her luminosity and zest for life, and in consonance with his training, he adapted his character to suit hers. For the first time in his life someone had brought colour to his bleak existence.
Andrew was soon asked to provide financial accountancy services to the GM, but although achieving his clandestine objective, he was struggling to balance his work commitments with the demands of family life and moreover, guilt began to tear away at his conscience. He released the pressure through excessive drinking and attempting to drive a wedge between him and Ashley. When blinding headaches and blackouts started, Andrew was admitted to hospital. The following year he was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. He moved out of the family home and into a flat in Edinburgh’s New Town. He admitted to his psychiatrist that he had invented an affair with a work colleague as an excuse to leave his wife and release Ashley from the torment of being married to him.
One night, Ashley called him on her Shackle. She had been sitting for most of the evening by the fire and drinking a particularly awful bottle of Chinese red wine. She switched off the visual display so Andrew couldn’t see that she had been crying. She had said,
“I just wanted to know why you cheated on me. I’m not irrational, I know you hate it when I’m irrational, but I just need to know why you did what you did and was she worth the price of our marriage.”
“I’m truly sorry Ashley,” replied Andrew.
“You lied to me Andrew. When you took your wedding vows, you lied in front of everyone. You’re a total shit of a man.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t become irrational?”
“Fuck you Andrew, you lying bastard.”
“So I’m a liar Ashley, it’s in my nature. I come from a family of liars. It’s my defence. Although I believed what I said at the time, and I honestly did believe every word, I invoked my right to change my mind when it suited me.”
“What do you mean? When did you stop believing in your vows, in me, in us, the children and why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I believed my declarations of eternal love and faithfulness at the time, but I’m not so sure now. I’m not sure of anything now.”
“Is it my fault, is that what you’re trying to say. Did I drive you to this? Was I not enough for you? Is this to do with your illness?”
“Why do you persecute me with these calls? You no longer believed your vows either, you told me as much when you said you weren’t sure if you loved me anymore. But you hold these promises up like pillars of stone, as if you had carried them on your back, barefoot and over broken glass. I can’t give you what you want anymore.”
“Andrew, I promised myself I wouldn’t get angry or become bitter, but you leave me with a penetrating sentiment of coldness and you have worn me down over the years. I know you have problems but have you ever considered that you are talking utter shit?” Ashley hung up, leaving him alone with Ashley’s words still ringing in his ear.
We Float Upon a Painted Sea Page 22