Mrs Caliban and other stories Page 19

  Francis watched for a while without showing himself. He was pretty sure that Anselm wouldn’t go away until he’d made some kind of decision. He began to feel more and more curious as he watched.

  He was patient. He knew that Anselm was a serious young man who liked to think things over for a long time before committing himself to an opinion. His faith was divided; his approach to God was intellectual and therefore in constant danger of attack by itself. He was twenty-seven, had dark hair and dark eyes, and was nice-looking but nervy. He sometimes talked too fast. When he had the feeling that he wasn’t getting through to people, or that his ideas would escape if he didn’t put them into words – it was like a panic, he’d said to Francis: there was always a right moment, and you could miss it.

  The order was fortunate in having so many young men. Elmo and William were in their early twenties, James and Duncan in their thirties. Just at the time when the young ones had rushed from the open doors of other monasteries, theirs had received recruits. Frederick had said sourly that there would always be some who found relief in seeking out suffering for a while. But their young ones had stayed. They hadn’t all had an easy time. Francis had felt so sorry for them that in his own recurrent crises of faith they had nearly caused him to despair. There had been one terrible, long night when he’d been roaring drunk, saying it was a crime to inflict mental torture on the young; Frederick had had to hold his head while he was sick.

  *

  Anselm stalked past the stone columns, the green wedges of grass showing between. ‘Father,’ he muttered, ‘I have … that is to say, you aren’t going to believe this, but

  At last he came to a stop and sat down with his back against one of the pillars. He longed for a cigarette, but he’d given them up six years before. He shut his eyes, opened them again on the picture of stone archways, grey skies and grass, and sighed.

  It had been just like this, but a wonderful day, not overcast like today: a time taken out of a milder season – springlike, marvellously full of sunshine, the sky blue as if enamelled, the air warm. And he was on the other side of the building, just like this, when he wasn’t supposed to be – he’d just skipped his duties and routines and thought somebody could go ahead and report him: he didn’t care. And nobody had reported him, either, which was also strange, but of course it was nothing compared to what was to come, because – he was looking out, like this, into the warm, grassy courtyard and when he’d lifted his face to the bright air there had been a loud, rapid fluttering sound, a heavy thump, and there in front of him on the expanse of green was a handsome young man, stark naked and smiling. Behind him, quivering and drawing themselves inward, were two large wings made of what appeared to be golden feathers. As Anselm watched, they pleated together and disappeared, leaving – so he was later to discover – no bodily trace on their owner. The young man looked right at him. He was still smiling. He took a step forward and held his arms out.

  Anselm knew straight away that this was the friend he’d been hoping for all his life. He had made a mistake to think that he could look deep into his own spirit and find a new and better self; the elusive other self was already inhabiting someone else. Only by loving another person did you find that part of yourself.

  He moved forward, opening his own arms, falling into the waiting embrace. The young man kissed him on the cheek, on the neck, on the mouth; hugged him, stroked and patted him lightly, and started to undo his clothes. Anselm was fairly certain that there was no one around at the moment, but there might be one other person who, like him, had decided not to do what he’d been ordered to that day; so he told the young man, breathlessly, that they’d better go to his cell. He pulled him quickly across the sunny grass, into the dark stone archways and corridors, to his tiny room. He closed the door.

  The young man removed the rest of Anselm’s clothes and fell on the bed with him. He seemed to be shedding light from his nakedness into all parts of the room. Anselm could hardly breathe. Her knew what was happening but he couldn’t quite connect it with anything else. He supposed it was really only the kind of thing he’d been warned about all his childhood: they tried to do it to you in washrooms, everyone had told him. And the Church frowned on it. Of course he’d somehow suspected it must be fun, otherwise people wouldn’t be so much against it, but all the same, he wasn’t prepared for this: to be touched all over, lovingly and thoroughly, in every kind of way, as he’d always – though he knew it was wicked – dreamed it would be like to make love. He was very nervous, but he was overjoyed.

  He kept his head enough to ask the man’s name afterwards. ‘Gabriel,’ his friend told him. Anselm fell asleep in his arms. When he woke, Gabriel had gone. Anselm got up and dressed, walked back to the courtyard and looked around. He thought he could detect some indentations in the grass that might have been made by the pressure of the angel’s feet as he’d taken off.

  He expected Gabriel to meet him at the same hour the next day. He rushed to the place long before it was time and waited, his eyes devouring every inch of his surroundings in an excess of anticipation. But Gabriel didn’t return.

  Anselm waited the next day too, and was again disappointed. He began to feel desperate. He couldn’t eat. He didn’t think he was going to be able to live through the next day. But he still believed that Gabriel would come back.

  Three different people criticized him for neglecting his duties. Although usually he was so overly diligent that he’d have been thrown into consternation by any expression of disapprobation, now he really didn’t mind. Waiting for Gabriel was more important. He actually told the most persistent of his critics to shut up and mind his own business.

  By the end of the week he knew that it was over. Gabriel wasn’t going to come back. It had been a single visitation: not to be repeated.

  He realized that he had never before known what it was to suffer. The pain of trying to accept the loss of love was too much for him. He felt himself beginning to break up, to become confused; he couldn’t remember things, he couldn’t keep his attention on anyone. He had to talk to somebody.

  The only person he could think of was Brother Francis, who was usually understanding and kind, and got along with everyone.

  He should go to Brother Francis and confess. He knew that; he was ready to do it. Not until he was outside the chapel did it strike him that it wasn’t going to be that easy to begin. He worked himself into such a state that by the time he finally entered, his head was down and his arms hanging. He shuffled towards the confessional.

  Francis nipped in at the other end.

  Anselm stared into the darkness and sighed. He said, ‘I don’t know how to put it.’

  ‘It’s all right, Anselm,’ Francis told him. ‘Just make a beginning somewhere. Have you sinned?’

  ‘And how.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘All over,’ Anselm babbled, ‘kissing and touching – it was wonderful, lovely. It was so delightful, and I know it’s a sin, but it’s the only truly magical thing that’s ever happened to me – right out of this world. I’m not sorry about it. All I can think of is how much I want it to happen again. But every time I go there and wait for him, I know it’s the end; he isn’t comimg back. And I can’t stand it. I just don’t know what to do now. It’s so lonely. It’s killing me, Francis. What am I going to do?’

  ‘Anselm, you know we’re supposed to give up all – all – all that sort of thing.’

  ‘I didn’t have to give it up – I never had it. No, never before. And maybe they’re right about the other kind; I don’t know. But this was wonderful. The feeling of joy – and it didn’t leave me afterwards. It grew. I felt transformed. I knew I should confess it, but it was like a secret he’d trusted me with. And after all, he takes precedence, doesn’t he?’

  Brother Francis forgot the rules. ‘This is appalling,’ he said.

  ‘The only really sublime, magnificent thing that’s ever happened to me. An angel – an angel from heaven, coming down to
earth. But now he’s gone, I feel so sad. I miss him. I can’t tell you how much I – all day long, all the time, all …’ Anselm started to cry.

  Francis knew that he shouldn’t say anything more without consulting someone, but he couldn’t remain silent while his fellow man suffered. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. He got up from his seat, went around to haul Anselm out into the light, and made him sit down in one of the pews. Anselm leaned forward, his head against his hands and his hands gripping the edge of the pew in front of him. Francis patted him on the back and repeated that it was all right. ‘Who did you say this other young man was?’ he asked.

  ‘Gabriel.’

  ‘I can’t recall a Brother Gabriel in the order.’

  ‘He’s an angel. I told you. He came – he just landed, and folded up his wings.’

  ‘Wings?’

  ‘I still remember the joyfulness, but how can anything be the same again? It was amazing the way he appeared, out of nowhere. And now ordinary life isn’t any good. It feels unliveable.’

  ‘Wings?’ Francis said again.

  ‘Golden wings. The real thing.’ Anselm’s voice sounded choked and tearful. He slumped forward on to the floor. He seemed to have fainted. Francis pulled him up. He told him to go back to his cell and lie down, and that he’d send Duncan to him.

  ‘I don’t need a doctor,’ Anselm said, but he went back to his cell obediently, lay down and fell asleep.

  *

  Francis was worried. He went to see Frederick. ‘I think something’s wrong with Anselm,’ he said, and told him the story.

  ‘Should you be telling me this?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘Consider it a confession. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘That’s simple. We find the joker and throw him out.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The gardener’s boy? Damn it, you can’t tell about anyone any more. He looked perfectly harmless to me. A little drip that could barely put one foot in front of the other.’

  ‘Exactly. Definitely not the type. Not like the last one.’

  ‘Yes, well. A heavy drinker, but marvellous with the bulbs. I suppose we’d better just wait till Anselm pulls himself together.’

  ‘He said it was an angel. With wings. Golden wings.’

  ‘I see. Have you asked Duncan to take a look at him?’

  ‘He won’t see Duncan.’

  Anselm went back to his ordinary life. He didn’t speak to anyone else about his visitation, but somehow word ran around the monastery that he had seen an angel in a vision. People began to come to his cell to ask him about it. He told them all the same thing: ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ But the higher powers became alarmed by this evidence of interest.

  They called Anselm before them. He sat in a chair facing Frederick, Francis and Adrian.

  Frederick said, ‘All right, Anselm. Tell us about it.’

  ‘It’s just what I said to Francis,’ Anselm mumbled. ‘I don’t think it should be anyone else’s business. I’m trying to get used to it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Anselm,’ Francis said. ‘This is only because the others have been talking.’

  ‘Oh, it isn’t you. I don’t blame you.’

  ‘Who do you blame, then?’ Brother Adrian said.

  ‘Who do you? Why am I here?’

  ‘Delusion.’

  ‘You think it was an optical illusion?’

  ‘Delusion. Delusions of grandeur. I did it with angels.’

  ‘Only one.’

  ‘Or’, Frederick said, ‘could it have been a man? Someone in the order, for example?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘These things sometimes occur, regrettable though they may be.’

  ‘Who regrets it?’

  ‘Who was it, Anselm?’

  ‘I’ve told you. And you don’t believe it. All right, never mind. May I go now?’

  ‘Let’s be more specific about what actually happened.’

  ‘I do not propose to discuss what went on between us.’

  ‘You don’t have to. I can imagine it well enough. That wasn’t what I had in mind. What I’m trying to ascertain is whether at any stage during this alleged encounter the wings got in the way.’

  ‘I’ve said already: they’d disappeared.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Inside.’

  ‘Inside? How?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure. When I saw it happen, he was facing me. I guess they must be like those fold-up umbrellas you can get: you know, sort of collapsible. When you don’t need them, you can –’

  ‘Anselm, this joke has gone far enough. Come on, now. What’s going on? You’re feeling the need of drama and eventfulness here?’

  ‘A lack of attention?’ Adrian added. ‘But you didn’t join our order for that, did you?’

  ‘I joined it because I love God. And now, at last, I’ve got the proof that He loves me back. He sent His angel to me and showed me. You say you can imagine, but you can’t. You just can’t. It was a pleasure beyond anything.’

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ Frederick muttered.

  ‘And he was beautiful.’

  ‘A figment of the –’

  ‘I felt like a tree,’ Anselm said wildly. ‘A barren tree that’s come into flower for the first time.’

  ‘That’s rather vague,’ Francis said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well, after he took off my clothes, we sort of fell on to the bed and –’

  ‘Please,’ said Frederick. ‘Spare us the details.’

  ‘Francis asked what happened.’

  ‘This is so sordid,’ Adrian murmured.

  Anselm exploded. ‘How dare you?’ he yelled. ‘How dare you say that about any of God’s creatures, much less an angel? We are not sordid. We’re good. God made us and God loves us the way we are, even if we don’t always do everything right.’ He burst into tears. ‘I can’t go on,’ he sobbed.

  Francis made a move to rise and go to him, but Frederick held up his hand. Anselm fought for control. He began to calm down.

  ‘I think you should have a talk with Brother Duncan,’ Frederick told him.

  ‘I’m all right now. I just got upset.’

  Adrian said, ‘You can claim you saw this, and you can claim you saw that, but the fact remains that nobody else saw –’

  Anselm turned his head. ‘You weren’t chosen,’ he sneered. ‘I was. And’, he said defiantly, ‘his skin was like honey.’

  ‘That’s enough of that,’ Frederick said. ‘I’m ending this interview now. Anselm, if you won’t agree to talk to Brother Duncan, you’ll have to consider yourself confined to quarters until further notice.’

  *

  The incarnation was intended to be a punishment, but it also showed that they were afraid he might get out. Why would he want to do that? He lay on his bed – on the same bed where it had all taken place, and where he could remember if he shut his eyes or even lowered the lids a little – and tried to figure out why they were so worried. From their point of view, of course, he’d just been seeing things. Most closed communities were stiff with people who hadn’t been able to stand the strain; even if they didn’t crack, it was uncommon to find more than half of them without some kind of fissure. But they stayed, naturally. The world outside was so much worse. He himself, as they knew, had sought out the order as a refuge – a solution. And now it was where the best thing of his life had happened to him. It didn’t make sense that he should want to leave, yet they were afraid. He started to feel apprehensive about their fear.

  At the other end of the building from his cell, the senior brothers argued. ‘You’re making him a martyr,’ Francis said. ‘That’s just what so many of the young ones want: the glory and romance of the persecuted believer.’

  ‘He isn’t all that young,’ Frederick said. ‘Nearly twenty-seven. That stuff’s for the teenagers.’

  ‘Haven’t you noticed how the rest of them are taking his side against you?’

  ‘Against us.’

  ‘Exc
ept Adrian. That’s a surprise. I never thought he’d agree with you on anything. I think he’s just set against the poetry of it. He doesn’t think other men, especially young ones, should have such fancy ideas.’

  ‘Francis, it’s the question of the morality that’s so repulsive.’

  ‘Yes, I’m not very fond of morals myself.’

  ‘The lust, Francis. The gross flagrancy of the sexual intercourse. The immorality in any case, but in this case much more so. The perversion, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘I hope you and Adrian will take into account my firm conviction that it’s necessary for people to be able to have their dreams. For the young, it’s essential. And in a place like this, there’s almost no other way to express the more flamboyant aspects of their nature. Do you understand?’

  ‘I guess so. But it’s the others I’m concerned about.’

  ‘The others think it’s too harsh to shut him away for a harmless fantasy. He didn’t need to talk about it, after all.’

  ‘Oh, talking about it was the point. You don’t think all that big, lush story of kisses and touching would have been half as good without other people’s reactions, do you?’

  ‘He’s always been a good boy, and conscientious. A bit serious and moody, a bit frightened of other people. But spiritually sound, Frederick. His heart’s in the right place, I think.’

  ‘It wasn’t his heart he was boasting about.’

  ‘He wasn’t boasting. He was in distress.’

  ‘Boasting. Adrian was right about that. “I was chosen,” he said. And so on.’

  ‘I just think, to be so severe – it might not be the right way to handle it.’

  ‘One more week. Then we’ll have another talk with him.’

  *

  Anselm let himself dream. He lowered his eyelids and remembered. He was happy, even though he didn’t think it was very healthy to be cooped up the way he was. He did exercises in the cramped space, but they didn’t seem to help much. He had pains in his chest. He lost interest in his theological texts. He yearned for things he’d left long ago – for instance, he’d have liked to see a really exciting movie full of car chases. It took him a long while to recover from his night’s sleep. He didn’t seem to wake up so quickly or so fully as usual, and the morning meal of lumpy porridge and tough old wheatmeal bread made him feel nauseated.