Aelred's Sin (24 page)

Then the door suddenly opened. Aelred jumped up. The Abbot came towards him. He was a small man, jumpy. He tugged at his abbatial cross, which hung on a long gold chain about his neck. It had a stone which looked like a ruby in the middle. It glinted. He was noisy. His black heavy shoes clattered on the slippery polished brown parquet floor. He dropped a book on to the desk. ‘There,’ he said. ‘All that we need to know in life.’ At the same time he held out his hand to Aelred, with his abbatial ring.

Aelred dropped to his knees to kiss the ring. Out of the side of his eye, as he knelt at the height of the desk, he caught the title of the book the Abbot had dropped there thunderously.
The
Imitation
of
Christ,
by Thomas à Kempis. Aelred remembered the small black volume given to him at his confirmation. It had not helped him then; would it now? He got up from his genuflection.

‘Yes,’ he said, almost inaudibly.

‘Well, I like to hear from my novices.’ The Abbot spoke in a businesslike way, pulling out his chair, almost tipping it over and indicating with a thrust-out hand to Aelred to sit again, opposite him. Aelred folded his scapular carefully from behind him and sat. He found it difficult to fill the chair. He felt his feet would leave the ground if he sat right into it and leant back into it. So he sat up, without leaning against the back. He sat with his hands under his scapular. The Abbot fidgeted with his pen and straightened his blotter and inkwell. He lifted the sheaf of papers, knocked them together and packed them into shape, holding them up and knocking them against the desk top, dropping them repeatedly. ‘You’ve settled in now. I think you’ve done splendidly. Father Justin tells me all is quite perfect.’ The Abbot smiled.

‘Yes, well …’

‘Of course. It’s bound to be a little difficult at the beginning. And you’ve had huge adjustments to make. Quite beyond what most novices have to contend with. Not least, the weather.’

Aelred kept trying to form a thought in his head into a speech. He thought the Abbot’s habit seemed far too large for him. It almost swallowed him up and he looked minute, sitting in his large abbatial chair. Aelred wondered what the Abbot’s body looked like under his habit. He glanced up at the crucifix. The face of Christ was handsome, though gaunt and sorrowful. Edward’s barebacked body flashed through his mind, blond hair curling around his navel.

The Abbot took off his glasses and cleaned them with the tip of his scapular. ‘You were saying …’ The telephone rang. The Abbot picked up the receiver gruffly, throwing
up his eyes at Aelred, indicating his irritation at being interrupted. ‘Yes, Father Mark. That’s what I decided. That’s what I told you yesterday.’ The Abbot glanced at Aelred. Aelred felt embarrassed overhearing a conversion with the Cellarer in which the Abbot was being patronising, obviously irritated by something Father Mark had got wrong. ‘Anyway, see me in half an hour, I have a young novice here at the moment.’ The receiver clattered in its hold and fell on the desk, and then the Abbot had to put it back properly. ‘Where were we? He rubbed his ring against the palm of the opposite hand. This was ostensibly to shine it. Why? Aelred thought. But it was also like someone sporting for a fight.

‘I don’t mind the weather. I quite like it. It’s a novelty.’ Aelred said tentatively.

‘Yes, well, that’s splendid. But there’s one little matter.’ The Abbot tidied his sheafs of papers again. ‘The Imitation of Christ.’ The Abbot picked up the book as if it had come to hand miraculously at that moment. ‘This is the book that will help you. It has been tested. It is uncontroversial. A tested spiritual guide.’

‘Father?’

‘No need to say anything, brother. Father Justin has told me the whole story. Yes, I think Benedict had the best intentions in giving you Aelred of Rievaulx but I’m sure you understand now …’

‘No,’ Aelred blurted out.

‘I’m sure you see the sense of this.’ The Abbot spoke over Aelred’s attempt to speak. ‘And I must insist, brother, from what Father Justin has described, that you and Brother Benedict should not meet alone. I don’t think that would be wise.’

‘Father Justin said that you were banning Aelred of Rievaulx from novitiate reading. He didn’t say anything else was wrong.’

‘Brother, we don’t need to spell this out. As you well know, even Aelred of Rievaulx would agree that dwelling on the description of sin is in itself a way to encourage it.’

‘Sin? What sin, father?’

‘Well, you know what I mean, the occasion of sin. “In much talking thou shalt not avoid sin”.’ The Abbot quoted the holy Rule. ‘You know that. You did very well at you examination on the holy Rule before your clothing. The whole council was very pleased with you.’

Aelred felt humiliated. He felt like crying. He felt angry. The Abbot was not listening. The Abbot was not allowing him to talk. Then what could he tell the Abbot? He was right. But at the same time Aelred felt something was wrong. This man should be helping him. Father Justin should be helping him. There was only Basil. Not to see Benedict alone! What did the Abbot and Father Justin talk about? What did they really know? What were they not saying? Or were they just guessing, trying to avoid anything happening. Father Justin would have his eyes peeled for every transgression. This rule was going to be impossible. How on earth was he going to obey this rule?

‘Father, I …’

‘I think you must just obey, brother. That’s the hardest part of our life, the vow of obedience. You will take this vow in a few months. You must practise this now. Father Justin says that you have the making of a good monk, but there are these few things to get right at the beginning. In time it will be more appropriate to see Brother Benedict
as you would any of your other brothers. But for the moment a little restraint in this matter is needed, it will be good for you and for him. You must think of him. You are very young brother. Very enthusiastic. Impulsive. Maybe it’s the hot climate you come from.’ The Abbot smiled. This was a joke, Aelred thought, but then he felt that the Abbot meant it. ‘Anyway our rule was written in Italy, so it’s well tested for those in the sunshine.’ The Abbot smiled again, getting up from his desk, indicating that the meeting was over. They walked together to the door. Aelred knelt and kissed his ring. The Abbot gave him a blessing, making the sign of the cross over his head. ‘Thomas à Kempis, brother,
The
Imitation
of Christ
.’

Aelred tried to smile. He closed the door behind him inadvertently lifting the ‘Pax Vobiscum’ knocker, then grabbing it tightly before it knocked again at the Abbot’s door. He put his hood on and made for the cloister. He walked near the wall of the corridor, as was the custom. He walked with head bowed, his eyes downcast. He needed some air. He needed to walk. He needed to run. He couldn’t go to Benedict. He did not want to bother Basil today. He thought he might visit him later in the week. He had to get some help. Now he felt that Father Abbot and Father Justin knew everything that had been happening.

He remembered again bowing to the Abbot that night when he and Benedict had kissed and embraced in the side chapel. The Abbot could not know the details of that. It must have been what Father Justin had heard and even seen in the library. He tried to settle his mind by saying the rosary as he walked around the cloister. As he came back into the corridors on the way to the novitiate,
he noticed Benedict going into the Abbot’s room and Father Justin coming out. What was going on? All these meetings? Something serious, much more serious, was happening.

Maybe he could still get a mug of coffee, Aelred thought, or had he missed the mid-morning coffee break? He was just passing the pantry and, as he passed, he heard music coming from inside. Then he remembered that Brother Angel, who was blind, worked in the pantry and was allowed a radio. Aelred retraced his steps and put his head round the door. The monks were encouraged to do that sometimes, to say hello to Brother Angel, to cheer him up. Edward was sitting on the edge of a table in the middle of the pantry, sorting out a cluster of tins of fruit and vegetables. Obviously he was on dinner duty. Brother Angel was at a smaller table, shelling beans into a basin. On the radio was the tune, ‘Love, love me do. You know I love you’.

Edward looked up. His lips were formed into a whistle. He smiled, humming the tune. He paused. ‘
Benedicite
,’ he said pointedly. ‘The Beatles, brother.’ He whistled along, pointing at the radio. Brother Angel chuckled.

‘Are you being distracted, brother?’ Aelred put his arm on Brother Angel’s shoulder. ‘How are you today?’

‘Not at all, not at all. Fine, brother. It’s a catchy tune.’

‘Is this the station you want, brother? Not your usual?’

Edward laughed. ‘He’s taking a break from the Home Service, aren’t you, Brother Angel?’

‘That’s right. Who’s that?’ Brother Angel indicated to Aelred that he did not recognise Edward’s voice.

‘A relatively new postulant, brother. One who’s not far
off his clothing. Who hasn’t quite given up the world.’ Aelred looked at Edward smirking. Brother Angel chuckled.

‘It’s just a bit of innocent fun,’ Brother Angel said solemnly, scratching his beard.

‘Is there any coffee left?’ Aelred said to Edward who would have cleared the refectory earlier to lay the places for dinner - an expression Aelred could not get used to. He still thought of it as lunch. Dinner was what he had with his parents, a fine meal which Toinette cooked and served. White linen and silver!

‘Yes, I think the urn is still warm. You might be lucky.’ Edward continued humming. The Beatles sang, ‘Love, love me do. You know I love you.’

Aelred went to the common room to browse among the bookshelves there. He was soon distracted from that. He was preoccupied with his meeting with Father Abbot, his last meeting with Father Justin and all that seemed to be implied in what they had said. He stood with his face
against the glass of the tall windows in the common room, looking out on to the thick laurel and holly hedges. Suddenly, there was a thud. A swallow had flown straight at the closed window, stunning itself against the glass, and had fallen to the ground. It had all happened in an instant. It took Aelred completely out of himself. He opened the window and looked down at the ground below the window. He watched the small bird. It lay there panting, moving its legs. Its head shuddered. Its wings folded. Then its legs stopped moving.

Aelred went and got his work on the translation of the psalms. Then he took himself to the grave of Jordan, to kneel in the shade and translate his psalms. On the way he picked up the dead swallow. As he entered the cemetery he stooped down and buried it under some dead leaves and twigs.

Brother Sebastian’s grave had still to be filled in. That would be done after None. Maybe he would be detailed again for grave duty.

On the soft green turf below the whispering yew trees, a balm for his hurt, he was soon distracted from his translations. Overhead, he heard the sharp clicks and whistles of the swallows, which were darting at a furious speed, weaving in and out of each other above the cemetery and darting to their nests below the eaves of the chapel. He noticed one swallow in particular. It swooped and arced. It darted into a weeping ash tree, and was out again and then under the far eave of the chapel. It continued this journey back and forth, building a home.

You’re like those swallows, the travelling you’ve done, Miss Amy say.

Yes, Miss Amy. Master Newton point them out at sea. He say we’ll see you in England, talking to the birds. We up on deck when I hear him say that. They call it Bristol. You must know Bristol. That is what we hear when we still on the sea. Bound for Bristol. Everyday I so sick, I happy to be going anywhere and stopping anywhere. What a clamour there is when we out on to the deck. We still in chains down under. Lots of fellas sick and womenfolk crying. One morning, not far from Maderia, I wake up. It calm for the last hour or two. This fella, his name is Joseph, or that is what the white sailor who loose our chains call him. They just call us by a name. But he dead, Miss Amy. I think he asleep, leaning on me. But he is slump against me because he is dead, Miss Amy.

It is early morning when we dock in Bristol. But people know we come. Such a clamour when we come out into the cold and have to stand up. Six of us chain together get push to one corner where a number of gentlemen come to look at us. But Master Walter pick me out and say, I is one of his breed. The man who speak with Master Walter sound like a man I hear speak in Virginia. He come and look us over and poke us with his walking stick, which has a silver top, I notice. It shine like a candle in his hand in that dark, cold, early morning. And he have a watch in his pocket. I know his voice well, for once I go there. And once to South Carolina, on a boat on a river called Waccamaw. Me and a boy called Jack, we try to escape there into the swamps, which is wooded with oak and pine and cyprus. We hide there among the reeds and rushes. Me and Jack. He come like my twin brother I lose when they take me from my village. And is a solace, I remember, the beauty of a flowering magnolia. But we get
catch and take to Charleston. Then I get take back to the island and find myself with Master Walter once more.

Because I is a runaway he beat me, Miss Amy. He hang me up and beat me.

Then when we arrive in Bristol we is in these narrow dark streets and I hear the cry, Black boy for sale. Master Walter, and the man who speak like that man I hear in Virginia, follow the cry down the narrow streets. There is this clanging of signs, each proclaiming another black boy for sale. Well limbed and fit to serve a gentleman, is the cry. The clanging of the signs mix with the sound of iron, the iron of the contraptions. The man I hear like a man in Virginia, he telling Master Walter about more contraptions he can show him from Virginia, like the ones he has back in a home in Kentucky. Never can do without them, when leaving them niggers with the womenfolk. That is later when we come to this house that have stables out in the back and we get to lie down in some straw, next to where there are some horses. I hear the gentleman like I hear a gentleman in Virginia sound, call a little girl, Bessy. He tell Bessy give some hot drink, some bread and dripping. We eat and drink anything they give us, and me and the five fellas sleep. One of them I hear Master Walter call Jonah. I never know his name is Jonah.