by Paul Almond
Eric roamed around the room, his movements erratic. As though he couldn’t settle.
Rene watched him but still said nothing. Better, she thought, let this situation, whatever it might be, evolve. She prayed it was not another of those — “We can’t go through with the marriage.” She had dealt with the last one pretty well, but wasn’t looking forward to many more.
Eric seemed to notice his own restlessness, and came to sit beside her again. But he kept wanting to get up, she thought, his hands twitching. He asked for another drink.
Rene got up, went to the sideboard and then, impulsively, turned to him. “Eric. Eric dear, tell me.”
Eric gave her a deep, serious look. Then he shook his head and turned away.
Rene brought him his drink, and sat beside him again. Then she touched him, put her hand on his, and then brought his fingers to her mouth and kissed them. “Eric. I’m to be your wife. We had better start right away not avoiding things. We had better start right now bringing things out.”
Eric looked at her. Fear in his look! He turned away.
Rene leaned over and kissed his cheek.
That seemed to do it. Eric leaned back, squeezed himself closer to her, shut his eyes, put his head back, and began. “Rene, after Moore College, I went for a walk in the Botanical Gardens. Aren’t they wonderful, as you said? Anyway, I found a quiet place and sat on a bench.” He leaned forward. “You see, I’ve been trying to decide... what I’m going to do...” Rene’s heart sank.
Eric nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ve been doing that a lot these last couple of weeks.”
Lord, thought Rene, it’s coming again. He’s going to go back to Canada. He’s going to leave just when everything looks so perfect. How should I deal with that? She braced herself.
He went on, relentless now. “And Rene, I don’t know if I was asleep or awake. But I sat for a long, long time. You see ... you see, I do ask God for help. I often do that.”
“I quite understand,” she murmured. Was Eric going to say God told him to leave her? Dirty trick, if He did, she thought. How did one counter God?
“Well,” Eric said, “I sat there and thought. I was staring into that pool, I guess. Built of boulders and smooth rocks, placed together, with cement to hold the water.” He shifted. “But at the bottom, there must have been broken glass, for when the sun moved in the heavens, its rays started to flash, they struck into the bottom of the pool and reflected, harshly, brilliantly, into my eyes...”
And then, he became almost rigid.
Shell shock, she thought. Oh no! But she kept silent.
“Rene, staring into that light, into the heart of that light, I saw ... well, the pool was filled with water out of sunlight, and the Lotus rose. And... I saw my Lord standing before me. And he... he pointed, right at me! And told me, what I should do. And you know, Rene,” Eric began to shake, “you know, Rene, I swear, I saw my brother next to him. They were both looking at me, with a serious look and yet at the same time, kind of comforting.”
Although holding himself rigid, he began to shake even more.
Oh heavens, Rene thought: What do I do? How does one handle this? She wished she’d taken some course. Or perhaps gone into the veteran’s hospital to ask them. Instinctively, she found herself putting an arm around him. His shaking grew. “And I knew, really, I knew then, what I had to do.”
She began to hug him tightly, as much for herself as for him. Yes, I know, she said to herself — to leave me and go back to Canada. And how to object to that? He was not well, she knew it, but she just could not let him go. What would happen then?
He went on, “I knew that I...” Rene let out a silent sigh. For pity’s sake, Lord, tell me how I should react, how I can help him? “...That I must...” he went on, rigid but shaking, “I must become a clergyman. Join Holy Orders.”
Rene stared. Then she shook her head and let herself break into a lovely smile.
Only now did Eric let himself turn to her. He saw that smile.
What an experience! Rene thought. A vision...
“Yes,” Eric went on, “I’m certain of it, Rene, I’m certain that’s what they both wanted. I know it. I’m supposed to become a priest.”
With unbounded relief, Rene hugged him as tightly as she could, and his shaking subsided.
He whispered. “Thank you, thank you, Rene. Thank you.”
Rene felt his whole frame slump and gradually, she relaxed her hold. What an experience he had been through. Not to be repeated, she was certain.
Eric leaned down, almost into her lap , and turned to look up at her face. “You won’t tell anyone about this... pool thing, will you?”
“No, my darling, that’s just between us two.”
“So really, you wouldn’t mind being the wife of the clergyman?”
She paused. Then she blurted out, “I can’t think of a better occupation, Eric. Being the wife of the clergyman, and a teacher of the Revived Greek Dance. What in the world could be a better combination?”
So once again, the marriage was on, and on the appointed Saturday in the Church of St. John’s, Darlinghurst, the two of them entered into the state of Holy Matrimony, accompanied by the most glorious bell-ringing of the thirteen tubular bells in the enormous landmark spire.
C H A P T E R S I X T E E N
With the wedding and reception past, Eric and Rene set their course for a productive time in Australia. Eric soon found himself in the office of Archdeacon David Davies, the Principal of Moore College, with his friend, the Rev. Clarence Lucas. Passing through some rigorous questioning, he was more than pleased to be accepted — in the middle of the scholastic year, which had begun in February — as a theological student.
Rene continued teaching, always with a weather eye out for her new husband. The shadow of the shadow hung over her. But after a time she saw that he was progressing nicely, enjoying his studies, happy at home, and she allowed herself to forget any looming upheaval from his war years.
Two weeks later on November third, the Tahiti, sister ship of the Aorangi, cut the Sydney ferry Greycliffe in two, killing forty passengers. This tragedy caught everyone by surprise, and now Eric spent his free hours ministering to the survivors. He worked tirelessly, Rene saw, which made her particularly proud. “I don’t know how you do it, Eric, all that studying and teaching, and then you spend your time off in hospital helping the victims. But don’t overdo it.”
“Rene,” he replied, “I’ve seen so much worse, remember. It’s no burden. I enjoy this ministry.”
The summer passed and before she knew it, she found herself in the Moore Chapel to witness Eric being ordained by the Archbishop of Sydney, John Charles Wright, who the very next week appointed him “curate” in their parish. His years at Bishop’s counted, of course, but he hadn’t yet passed his final Licentiate in Theology. Not being a full priest, Eric did not find his new duties onerous: helping out on Sundays and doing some pastoral work. But Rene was worried that, in addition to his teaching and studying, these might put another undue strain on him.
One night they sat together eating dinner. Rene had taught and danced all day, hurried home, picked up food and then cooked it for them. Eric was watching her anxiously during the meal, and finally she heard him say: “Rene, I don’t know if this will make you feel better, but I don’t think I’ve ever in my entire life been so happy.” He looked at her seriously, with a slight frown.
“Do I look tired, my darling?”
Eric nodded.
“Well,” she went on, “what you said will surely take away any tiredness. I’m so happy, too. And I thought your ordination just wonderful.”
But during 1929, storm clouds of another sort began to gather. “I do hope there’s not more bad news,” Eric called as he went down to bring up the Daily Telegraph for Rene, who was throwing together breakfast. “Those strikes the last while, they seem contagious: more and more unrest everywhere. I much prefer the papers to bring us news of heroic actions, like they did last
year when Bert Hinkler flew in solo from London.”
“And what about Kingsford Smith last June? Right across the Pacific! Brave man.” She smiled. “I love brave men.” She actually winked at Eric and quickly went on: “In a Fokker DVII, wasn’t it?”
Eric nodded. “He called it the Southern Cross.”
“I love stories like that.”
Eric threw the paper down on the table. “Look!”
Rene came to sit. “The Australian election?”
“Yes. They voted out that dreadful Stanley Bruce!”
Rene studied the column. “First sitting PM ever to lose his own seat. Well I never! So James Scullin and his Labour Party have gotten in with a huge majority. I wonder if it’ll help?”
“Shouldn’t think so...” Already Eric was drifting off in his own world of study and papers that he had to write. “Here it is October 13th, and I’ve got a whole set of exams beginning. It’s my last term, you know, Rene, it ends in December, and that’s it.”
At the end of October, matters came to a head, oddly enough at another Sunday dinner at the rectory. Walking over after the morning service, Eric remarked, “You know, this reminds me that just over two years ago, we first came to dinner here. Amazing how the time flies.”
Rene agreed. “Where did it go? Oh, another couple will be joining us: I think you’ve met them. A pillar of the church, in fact, very wealthy — perhaps their most important donor, so Lyla told me.”
“That will be interesting,” Eric said absently.
Rene went on, “You know those lunches three times a week at church when we feed the poor ? Well, Lyla told me that more and more have been coming. I think she invited this couple so her husband could ask for a larger contribution.”
Eric opened the door to the rectory for Rene. After exchanging greetings, Clarence introduced Eric to Neal Harcourt, a large florid Mancunian with a red face, perspiring and somewhat jumpy. His wife, Elsie, was correspondingly small, elflike, with perhaps premature grey hair. She looked worried, and her eyes were red as though she’d been weeping.
Roast lamb was being served along with the usual vegetables and a good red wine. “Another sumptuous meal!” exclaimed Rene as they sat down. Always cheerful, Eric noticed, looking on the bright side.
“Lovely wine, Neal. Thank you very much.” The Rector complimented his guest. “Can’t you get your friend who owns this vineyard to come to church?”
The others grinned. But Neal seemed in another world.
“Now let us all drink,” Clarence went on, “to the future of our parish lunches for the poor.” He looked at Neal. “A lot more of the destitute coming these days.”
Everyone lifted their glass and drank, but Eric saw that Neal nearly choked on his wine.
The others pretended not to notice.
“Even when things around us aren’t going as well as they might, Lyla can be counted on to make a lovely meal,” Rene exclaimed again.
Neal glanced up briefly and then buried himself in the roast lamb; he certainly enjoyed his food, if nothing else. But the usual jollity of the meal seemed lacking. “Terrible,” Neal mumbled, mouth full, “what’s been going on.”
“Oh yes?” asked Eric. “I’m afraid I’ve been so involved in exams this last month, I haven’t had enough time to read the papers thoroughly.”
“And how do you think your studies are going, Eric?” asked Clarence. “From what I hear, you’ve been enjoying yourself and doing well to boot.”
“Eric’s loving it,” Rene confirmed. “His graduation is next month, well, at the beginning of December. He’ll have his Licentiate in Theology as you know, and the week after that they are arranging for his ordination as full priest.”
“Bravo, Eric!” commented Lyla. “I just knew when you took up those courses, you’d do well. Welcome into the clergy!”
“Thank you, Lyla,” Eric said. “I just did my best.” But he steered the conversation back to Neal, who seemed to be sweating more. “So the economic news is not good, Neal?”
Silence descended on the table while Neal finished a mouthful and wiped his heavy lips on the large white napkin. “Bloody awful. Haven’t you heard?” He glanced about him and then dived into the roast potatoes again.
“At classes yesterday,” Rene said, “it was all the conversation at the break. Apparently, my women students had heard from their husbands there’d been some sort of awful crash.” She glanced at Eric. “I mentioned it last night, my dear.”
Eric nodded. “I wish I’d paid more attention.”
“Awful is putting it mildly,” said Neal. “My brother telegrammed from Manhattan — he’s been entirely wiped out.” He glanced around the table. “When Elsie and me came out here to New South Wales, Edward opted for New York City. My father, Pa, we call him, he had sent us off. He had made a bit of a fortune, you see — ”
“I’ll say he did!” laughed Clarence. “If he was able to send one son to New York and the other to Sydney, who I might add has been as generous as anyone alive!”
“We owned a couple of cotton mills in Manchester. Edward, my brother, he took a good part of his inheritance and put it in the market. Made himself so much, these last years, I even sent him everything I had, too.” He shook his head sorrowfully and then mopped his brow.
His little wife, Elsie, added, “You see, with all our contacts in the wool trade from Manchester, it seemed foolish not to come here to Australia with all its sheep. Really, it did. We were sure to do well.”
“And you have, my dear,” Lyla responded soothingly
“I suppose we did, for some years. But now...” She choked slightly.
“What Elsie’s trying to tell you is the last couple of years, our staples, wool and wheat, have tumbled. Almost our whole economy, as you know. Banks won’t lend to us fellows who work with real things like sheep and acres of wheat — stuffing their greedy cheeks with market paper. Impossible to do business that way. My partners all say the same. No wonder there’s more and more strikes, more and more fellows out of work. The whole Australian economy is going down the drain fast — and pulling us with it!”
Eric had been reading about the number of strikes but he hadn’t really absorbed their economic realities.
“Has your school been doing all right?” Clarence leaned over to Rene on his right and touched her arm.
“Well, to be perfectly frank, Clarrie, our enrolment has been dropping. Only yesterday two more women said they can’t come back after Christmas. Such a shame. They were doing so well, too: standing more erect, moving gracefully; they need what we can give them.”
“I dare say a bunch more will be dropping out, too,” growled Neal. He turned to the Rector. “And while we’re on this dreadful subject, Clarrie, I’m afraid, the way things are, I’m going to have to stop my support of your weekly luncheons for the poor. In fact,” he gave a harsh laugh, “Elsie and I will likely be coming for a hand-out ourselves!”
Elsie gave a little yelp and Eric noticed her eyes brimming again. “It’s dreadful,” she mumbled, “just dreadful. You don’t know the half!”
“Black Thursday, Edward called it. He telegrammed me yesterday again to tell us we’d been wiped out, too.” He shook his head, and began to tremble a little. “Black Thursday! Yes, so many finished. Including us.” He sat back glumly, and then dived hungrily into the last of his tasty lamb and vegetables.
On their way home together, Eric seemed a new man. He was walking upright like a soldier, and Rene could feel him taking charge. “Now my lovely, Rene,” he asked, “what’s all this about dancers leaving?”
“Well, I didn’t want to worry you, Eric dear, but attendance has been dropping.”
“And Neal said it will drop even further. Do you think there’s any truth in that?”
“I’m afraid so.” Rene left the sentence hanging in the air.
“Is there anything you can do?”
Rene shrugged. “What happens in the country, we just cannot control.” She we
nt on, “At least you’ll have finished your studies. You’ll be a proper clergyman.”
“Yes,” replied Eric. “And priested on the twenty-first. The Solstice,” he added.“Curious. The Pagans used to think of this as the time of maximum conflict between the powers of darkness and the powers of light.”
“So finally, the end of studying, and college.”
“Yes. And the beginning of something else ...” murmured Eric.
They walked on up Darlinghurst which turned into Macleay St. They still had a way to go.
“So,” Rene prompted tentatively, “a beginning?”
“Mmm.” He paused. “Well, I’ve been thinking of trying to find some position in the country or up the coast. All the clergy positions here in Sydney seem pretty well filled. I’ve been making discreet inquiries.”
“You mean, go and stay out in the country?”
“Well, I could come back every weekend, my dear. I don’t know what else...”
Rene shook her head. “That’s hardly the way I want to live.”
“Me neither.”
“I noticed when you heard of your mother’s death last April, although you tried to hide it, you were thinking long and fully about your Old Homestead.”
“A shock, of course. Though expected — we knew she’d not go on forever... You were a great comfort, Rene. I didn’t really credit you at the time, as I should have.”
“That’s what a wife is for. As you are a great comfort to me, Eric.”
“Anyway, I try to put morbid thoughts aside,” Eric said. Then he was silent. “You’re right, Rene, it was difficult. I loved her, as you know.”
“I do know,” Rene said. “I know a lot more than you imagine,”
Eric nodded.
“So this might mean, perhaps, that it’s time for a trip to Canada? I’ve never been, you know.”
“Oh no,” Eric replied. “Your school comes first.” They walked on.
“No, in my life, Eric, you come first.”
“Even before your school?”
Rene nodded, seeing him look at her. “I’ve always been intrigued by that wilderness, you know. So romantic. So untouched. No one I know in England, or here for that matter, knows anything about the deep woods, those still lakes you wrote to me about, the call of the loons, the caribou...”