With and Without, Within and Without

by Euan McAllen

  ‘It’s supposed to. It will defeat the rash.’

  ‘Defeat it, how?’

  ‘It will burn it off. That’s what the doctor told me.’

  Mozak suddenly changed the subject. ‘Please.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Scratch the back of my leg the left leg, it’s itching like mad.’

  The nurse looked around first before replying. ‘Well, just this once.’

  ‘Thank you. Oh, that’s good, thank you.’

  Mozak grinned, for suddenly he had had a flashback: he was in bed with Agnes, and she was on top form, on top. The nurse walked away quickly, feeling rather compromised.

  ***

  Near the end of the day, as the sun began to slip, a crowd gathered at the statue of the Head Builder. It included labourers, bricklayers, masons and their union representatives. It included the chief monk, his chief, and a number of monks. It did not include any peasants. Peasants were not invited: they had to stay away, at the bottom of the hill. Those that did try and get up close were sent packing by union men. Tibi was there with his godfather, Fiodor, who, as an associate member of the union, had a prime position. He and Bushcatti exchanged glances, just the once, but long enough for a message to be sent, and its meaning understood. Some of the tradesmen had never seen the Chief, Chief Monk before and were not impressed: he was old; he looked fragile; he had stumbled his way up the path towards the statue; he did not exhibit power or confidence.

  As in all previous years, a special brick had been fired for the occasion, and now it was ready to be cemented in place: its place being on the ceremonial wall which had started life at the base of the statue centuries earlier. Year by year, the brick wall inched itself away from the statue and on down the hill. Every brick which had ever been laid was inscribed with the number of days which had passed since the completion of the Maze. No one knew the true age of the Maze, so the number was fake, but it was still a powerful number.

  The Head Builder stood firm, looking out across the town towards the Maze, forever on the lookout for wear and tear. The Maze had been his project, his life’s work, his dream. He would stand and stand the test of time for as long as the Maze stood.

  The union leader gave a short speech – almost identical to the one he had given the previous year - then, with a layer of fresh cement put down, he handed the special brick to his special guest, and requested he fix it in place, and so build the wall. Its weight took Bushcatti by surprise, and he nearly dropped it, much to the dismay of the union leader. Apologising, he recovered quickly and proceeded to oblige, then paused, as if he had forgotten something. He turned to his Chief Monk and waved him in close. He suddenly looked very anxious.

  ‘Is there a problem, Excellency?’

  ‘Here, take this, you do it.’

  ‘But Excellency, I could not possibly.’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ hissed Bushcatti. ‘I’m telling you, take it, do it, man. Don’t make a fuss. Everyone is watching us.’

  ‘I don’t understand?’

  ‘I can’t bend over that far.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  Adolphinus did as instructed and completed the action, much to the bemusement of those present (and secretly his own). The union leader looked far from happy. Monks exchanged glances with unease, as did Trade. The chief of all chief monks had rather destroyed the moment. Tibi looked across at his godfather, only to see that he was doing his best, not laugh. Bushcatti looked Fiodor straight in the eye but he could not offload the weight of his world. Fiodor gav,e nothing back. After the ceremony, Tibi accompanied his godfather home, wishing to see how his friend was faring. Starved of true company, Timothy looked pleased to see him.

  Fiodor served up beer and sat back to watch his house guest squirm and wriggle out of the questions put to him by his godson. Despite Tibi’s attempts – and to his growing frustration - Timothy would not reveal how and where he had spent his time away. Fiodor was the only happy person in the room, and clearly enjoyed the spectacle of Timothy’s discomfort alongside Tibi’s exasperation. Unable to take anymore, Tibi banged the table, nearing spilling his beer and startling Timothy.

  ‘What’s going on here, Timothy? Why the secrecy? I’m your oldest friend, don’t you trust me?’

  ‘I do trust you, Tibi, I do.’

  ‘Then tell me. Where have you been all this time? I won’t tell the police. You know I wouldn’t do that.’

  Then the penny dropped, and Tibi’s eyes lit up. ‘You’ve been hiding in the Maze haven’t you.’

  Timothy caved in, his resistance reduced by beer. ‘Yes.’

  ‘All that time, alone? How did you survive?’

  ‘There are others in there, a community, a village. They took me in.’

  Tibi was gobsmacked. ‘Do they have religion? Do they worship God?’

  ‘Yes. They have a church. But that’s all I can say. I have said too much. I promised them I would keep their secret. You must promise me the same.’

  Tibi reached out across the table and took his friend’s hand. ‘I promise not to tell. I promise, before God.’

  ‘Thank you. That means a lot to me.’

  Tibi looked up at his godfather. ‘You won’t say anything about this, will you?’

  Fiodor shrugged. ‘I heard nothing.’

  Timothy looked up at his host. It was clear: Fiodor would make no such promise. Instead, he just smiled, perfectly relaxed, looking in no way surprised. Timothy did not want Tibi to leave him now: he did not want to be left alone with his host. This man had his own secrets, his own agenda. But Tibi left, to get back to his dorm in time for curfew and evening prayers, and Timothy was left alone with Fiodor.

  At the hospital, Sister Miuccia swooped down on Mozak. Still face down, still suffering the pasting, he had buried himself and switched off. She prodded him to give her due attention.

  ‘Ouch. Don’t do that.’

  ‘So – Timothy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Timothy.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  Mozak craned his neck towards the voice. Unlike the others, this nurse looked stern. She smiled, just about, and he tried to smile back.

  ‘I could be better.’

  ‘You will be better. I promise you. Just be patient.’

  Mozak had no answer to that and did not try to find one. He just smiled back, to catch her up, for she refused to stop smiling.

  ‘It’s a rash, I understand?’

  ‘Not just a rash. I may have something else. A bug, a bad bug. You have to treat it. It’s not just a rash.’

  ‘A bug? You caught a bug at the monastery?’

  ‘Yes, something bad.’

  ‘We’ll keep an eye on you.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘For now, Timothy, yes. And remember, if you need to talk, just ask. I’m a good listener.’

  ‘Talk? About what?’

  ‘Whatever you want to talk about. That’s why I’m here.’

  Now Mozak wanted her out of his sight. Bring back a younger nurse. Sister Miuccia ran her hand across his hair, as if to smooth it down, as if to stroke him like a dog, and then walked away. Mozak wanted to shout ‘fuck off!’ but managed to restrain himself. He wanted her to cure him first.

  ***

  Adolphinus and his chief shared an evening meal together in private, to talk business. Ingel had not been invited – neither man wanted his company - much to his displeasure. He was elsewhere, now nursing the insult.

  ‘Insulted was he?’ asked Bushcatti. ‘They are getting too big for their boots, these policemen.’

  Adolphinus agreed. Ingel should learn to accept no for an answer sometimes.

  While Bushcatti ticked off his list of grievances with the other Chiefs - describing each in critical terms, mino
r or major - Adolphinus grew bored, but he hid it well whilst wondering if he had ever been on the list. He just kept on smiling as his master consumed wine at a constant rate, as if his life depended on it, and watched, and waited – which was what he did best. He watched as fat dribbled down the chin of his master, and pieces of meat sometimes fell from the fork before it reached his mouth. His chief knew how to eat and drink at speed. Adolphinus did not try to keep up. He had no intention of getting drunk: he was there to listen and learn.

  ‘The chief of all chief Monks must exhibit decorum, and punctuality, and a certain style above and beyond that of a chief. At all times. You understand me Adolphinus?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘He must exude integrity, confidence, demonstrate the highest moral values. The highest. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’

  ‘Remember we are the guardians of all knowledge, of the civilised world. We are the learned. It is our duty to give the masses direction, a set of moral values. We must educate them – enough to enable them to make a contribution to society – but not too much, or else we will confuse them. We control the knowledge and its means of distribution. We write the books. We store the books. We decide their use.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Adolphinus was beginning to tire. The lesson was going on for far too long. But Bushcatti refused to stop. He was on a roll, fuelled by alcohol and a big juicy steak.

  ‘We must protect, preserve our cultural inheritance. We are the custodians of all that is good, healthy, Godly, spiritual. We must feed the souls of the people; else they will starve.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘We must never fail to feed them.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘I am there to enforce the rule book and hit anyone over the head who does not follow it. Are you up to that job, Adolphinus?’

  ‘Yes, most certainly. Rules are everything.’

  ‘Governing is all about the detail. Both the Devil and God are in the detail.’

  ‘That’s so true.’

  ‘You have to rise above the fray, the politics, the rivalries, the jealousies, and show true leadership, courage, fortitude. Can you do that Adolphinus?’

  ‘I can, most certainly I can.’

  ‘Remember we are the elite, the rational elite, and the best of us is the Chief, Chief Monk, always. The Chief, Chief Monk is the leader, the one all Chief Monks must want to follow, at all times. He must control and sometimes, when necessary, conspire – but never compromise. Never!’

  Bushcatti banged the table and spilt his wine. Adolphinus was happy to refill his glass.

  ‘You understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘In order to do God’s work.’

  ‘Yes, God’s work.’

  ‘Intimidate if you must, if the situation calls for it. Do not hold back. It always works for me.’

  ‘And him.’

  ‘Who, God?’

  ‘No, Ingel, my SRO.’

  ‘Good. That’s his job. Let him do your dirty work. He’s no monk.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Ingel. He’s no monk.’

  Out of the blue, Bushcatti suddenly started talking about sex.

  ‘As to the issue of a man’s needs and the opposite sex.’

  ‘There is an issue with the opposite sex?’

  ‘We all have our needs – though mine ceased many years ago. I have no need for a woman, but I appreciate you may still do, and I respect that. We are talking women, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Adolphinus sounded uncomfortable, wishing for these words to never be spoken.

  ‘All I am saying is, Adolphinus, be discreet, even more than you are now. You are discreet; I take it?’

  ‘I am, very.’

  ‘Good. But listen, what arrangements you have now must stop, immediately. Break any connections, bury the history. Stories must not be allowed to leak. If such a need arises in the future, check with my personal assistant. He can make safe, secure arrangements.’

  ‘If I get the job.’

  ‘If you get the job.’

  Adolphinus relaxed a little. That wasn’t so bad. He had to hand it to his chief; he was open-minded.

  The wine took its toll, and Bushcatti’s carefully crafted persona began to crack and peel away, to reveal the true, bare-bones Bushcatti. As the wine wound its destructive path towards the centre of his brain, so Bushcatti revealed his true sentiments, his layers of reserve temporarily discarded for the falsehoods they were. Adolphinus, sensing an opportunity to gain valuable insight, encouraged him on. Bushcatti ridiculed the importance of his own position, the moral humbug, and that of the other chief monks. Adolphinus sensed the man was a fraud, but then so was he, so he did not hold that against him.

  ‘And remember, God will not help you.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. He is too busy elsewhere, pissing in the wind most likely.’

  Adolphinus found that last comment offensive, but said nothing, blaming the wine rather than the man.

  ‘Warning Adolphinus, life at court is driven by ritual, tradition, some ridiculous, some mind-numbingly tedious. For the Chief of all Chief Monks there is the correct time for everything: when you rise, when you eat, when you shit; when you give audience; what to wear on certain days. If you’re not careful, it can fucking break a man. Are you up to it Adolphinus?’

  ‘I am. I can handle ritual.’

  ‘Remember, Adolphinus, in my job, you are always on the stage, always being scrutinized. You have to be a full-time actor.’

  Acting? thought Adolphinus. I am not an actor. I am for real. I will do your job, for real. You may be a fraud, but I am not. Give me the job and I will prove it.

  ‘One more thing, Adolphinus. With regard to your position, should you get my job, I wish it to go to my nephew. You understand?’

  A bribe, thought Adolphinus. Yes, I understand. ‘Yes I understand.’

  ‘Good. He will make a fine chief monk. His track record as a senior monk is excellent.’

  What do I tell Ingel? thought Adolphinus. Tell him nothing. Otherwise, he’ll blow his top.

  ‘I expect to see his nomination paper when I have submitted yours.’

  ‘Of course. I will arrange it immediately.’

  Bushcatti returned to his pet hate. ‘You must deal with Bonvaldi. He is trouble.’

  ‘Yes, you said. Neutralize him, you said.’

  ‘He is becoming out of control, a liability. He wants change. Change is dangerous.’

  ‘Why is he trouble?’

  ‘The man wants Chiefs to have fixed terms. He wants to allow peasants to go into trade. Allow tradesmen to become monks if they take up god and cease trading. Can you believe that? Can you believe that? His conduct is outrageous.’

  Adolphinus could believe it but pretended not to. Now he wanted to meet Bonvaldi: the man had some interesting ideas; they need not be enemies, the opposite in fact.

  ‘If he does not back down, produce evidence to charge him with bringing the office of Chief Monk into disrepute.’

  ‘Produce?’

  ‘Find it or fake it, and bring him before a special council. Have him removed from office.’

  ‘Evidence? Of what?’

  ‘Sexual deviance. That always works. Find a young monk or novice to stand against him.’

  Adolphinus began to feel sick inside.

  ‘Do you have the stomach to fight dirty, Adolphinus?’

  ‘If it has to be done, then yes.’

  ‘Good man. More wine.’

  Adolphinus refilled his master’s glass and tried not to listen too hard.

  ‘Some of them d
on’t have their heart in it. They think it’s just business. God is not just business. He is more than a business.’

  ‘Definitely. God came before business.’

  ‘Well put, my man. Wish I had said that first. Where’s my drink.’

  ‘Right there. Careful.’

  ‘I’m always careful. Most of them, most of them just want an easy life. Can you believe that?’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ Adolphinus could, quite easily.

  ‘Do you want the easy life Adolphinus?’

  ‘No. Certainly not. I’m not one for that. Devotion to duty is everything. I’m up early every day.’

  (Most days he was up early.)

  ‘Good to hear that. More of that wine. Good stuff. You make good wine out here.’

  Now slightly worried, Adolphinus topped him up.

  ‘We have the right weather out here. We grow the vines up the wall – added protection from wind and rain, and in summer, they get extra heat from the wall.’

  ‘What are you talking about man. The sun isn’t bigger here. Extra heat?’

  ‘The sun strikes the wall and heats it up.’

  ‘Excellent. The Maze serves us well. You know Adolphinus, I suspect some of my chiefs don’t really believe in what they do. I suspect some of them are just in it for the money, the power, and the privilege.’

  Adolphinus shook his head, his sincerity perfectly faked.

  ‘Terrible. There’s more to life than power and money.’

  Bushcatti banged the table in triumph. ‘Exactly! Well put! I’ll drink to that.’

  You’ll drink to anything, thought Adolphinus. Suddenly, Bushcatti had a go at the peasants.

  ‘Trade is not important. They’re just trade. They do not riot for that is bad for business. No, it is the peasants you must watch, control, crush if you have to. The rags are stupid. They don’t know what’s good for them. It’s our job to remind them, to make it clear God does not put up with unruly, ungrateful peasants. The rags are nasty, vicious, without moral standards. They will steal anything when your back is turned.’

  ‘But we must not abandon them?’

  ‘No, of course not. But special favours? No.’ Bushcatti paused for breath. ‘Adolphinus, answer me honestly, honestly now. Am I seen as good or bad? Was I a good chief?’