Everyday Ghosts

by James Morrison

  His father must have got wind of this friendship, because when Pete went home for holidays all his father talked about were queers. The house was always filled with company, and they all sat and listened, nodding as he ranted. “It’s bad parenting,” he said. “Do you think anyone would turn out queer if they had the right discipline? You beat it out of them, that’s all. No kid of mine, I’ll tell you that. They’d know better. You can bet your bottom dollar. They’d know I wouldn’t stand for it. I’d run them off. I’d run off the whole damn brood!” What brood? thought Pete. He was the only one.

  When his glasses came off, Michael was beautiful. His eyes were clear and steady. They seemed to see everything without having to judge it. His eyebrows were smooth and soft, a shade darker than his soft blond hair. If there was beauty, Pete thought, that was where it could be found, underneath. But some time later it struck him that Michael was beautiful with his glasses on, too.

  Pete and Michael decided to run away together. They would hitchhike south to where it was warmer, because they thought they would have to live on the streets for a while. Before they could leave, Pete was called to the headmaster’s office and told he was being sent to a different school. He had an hour to pack. He couldn’t find Michael. He sent him letters from the new school, but he could not be sure they were ever delivered. No answers came.

  He had only a year left of school. He spent it reading scripture. He had more questions than before, and he wanted them answered more than ever.

  It had been a military school so it was natural that he go from there into the army. When he was home on leave, his father clapped him on the back and told him he was proud of him.

  “You spend your life cheating people,” said Pete, “and you call it business.”

  His father turned pale with rage. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s the end.”

  Pete was no more surprised than his father was when he was discharged after two years. The only surprise was that it had taken so long. He moved to the city where he and Michael had planned to live together, and he got a job in a shopping mall. He sat in a back room watching the video screens, looking for shoplifters. What he saw stunned him. All the lost souls, all the lonely and desperate, wandering by, across these screens. It was amazing what people would do when they thought no one was looking. But why should they ever think so?

  There was a divinity school nearby. Some of the teachers allowed Pete to sit in on their classes. He heard there about a place in the hills where he could go for a retreat. He sent a letter to Father Gabriel. “I feel like I have been waiting for something all my life,” he wrote. “And now I think I know what it is.”

  Father Gabriel read the letter late one night by the dim light of the lamp at his desk. He could not accept just anyone, but it had been years since he had turned anyone away. That was mostly because so few came. It was a different world, and from what he heard, Father Gabriel was glad to be out of it. Still, something about the letter wrenched his heart. He knew nothing about the writer, this Pete, but he knew the type. Only a boy, and with nowhere else to go.

  6

  Pete brought Father Gabriel his tea. “What’s this?” asked Father Gabriel.

  “It’s your tea, Father.”

  Father Gabriel slammed shut the thick book on his desk. A wisp of dust puffed up from it. “So,” he said, “now you’re in on it too!” He had begun using words like “it” and “they” with little sense of what the words referred to. “They’re poisoning the water,” said Father Gabriel. “I won’t drink it.”

  “But Father, nobody can do without water.”

  “I can do without anything.”

  Sometimes “they” meant Hindus. Father Gabriel had become convinced that the Hindus were trying to make everyone else look bad. He professed this belief in his sermons. “They think they’re so all-fire holy,” he said with a sneer, “living on nothing but a few grains of rice and some orange seeds. And when they get old they go off with nothing but a begging bowl and sit by the side of the road until the cows come home. God wants us to do with little in this world, yes, but he does not ask us to be bums and hobos. But what do they know of God—they, who do not believe in one God? They think birds are gods. Imagine—birds! And what do you expect from people who think it makes them holy to go around without shoes? Their clothing consists of nothing but turbans and little swatches of fabric they throw over themselves that might slip off at any minute. That’s not being modest, it’s being pagan. What else would you call it—the gurus with their devil smiles, and the wild dances with the drums and the pipes and the snake-charmers. It’s pagan, I tell you.”

  Father Gabriel’s behavior grew stranger by the day. His ill tempers gave way to bouts of joy, then shifted back again. During the happy periods, one would often find him trying to stand on his head. Whether dark or light of mood, he paced back and forth without stopping, even when he was presiding over services. He ran up and down the stairs to the steeple at odd hours and swung with glee on the ropes that rang the bells.

  Pete found Brother James in the bakery. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” said Brother James. “These cakes bring in money. You might think they’re nothing, but if it weren’t for my cakes you would starve.”

  “Father Gabriel thinks you’re putting something in the water,” said Pete. “I would like to tell him that is not true.”

  “Thank you for your concern, Brother Peter. You may rest assured that matters are in hand.”

  “I know you have all been meeting without me. What are you up to?”

  “How dare you speak to me in this way. You will have to answer for it. Don’t think you won’t.”

  7

  Neb was Pete’s great comfort. He spent as much time as he could in the barn, brushing her coat. She accepted all and wanted nothing. She brought him such peace. Her stillness was beautiful. The only real love was the love that was not given or taken. It just was, without condition. He hoped he loved her with no thought of the peace she gave him. But even when he prayed, he felt he was demanding something. Give me devotion, give me knowledge, make me see. Neb demanded nothing.

  Her eyes were clear and dark and steady. Pete knew she saw him truly even though she seemed always to be looking beyond things, never at them. That was her way of being present, and she was only present, thought Pete. She had no past.

  Only when he forgot that she liked to stand in the doorway while he was with her would she nudge him and tilt her graceful head. It was the gentlest of demands. Then he would let her out of her stall and lead her forward to where she could feel the breeze. She loved how it ruffled her mane, even when the wind was hot.

  He stayed with her until they heard the bells calling him away.

  8

  Soon after dark one night, Pete was lying in his cell when he heard someone whistling. He rose and went to the window. The moon was out, so he could see that there was a figure standing at the gate. He stood in a pale moonbeam but his face was wreathed in darkness. Even so, the whites of his eyes shone through, as bright as stars. His whistle came in short, tuneless bursts, a few loose notes and then a long silence, over and over. It was no song Pete could name. After a long while, the man lit a cigarette. When he struck the match, Pete saw his face in the light of the flame. He wore a full black beard, and his hair was long and tangled. As he drew on the cigarette, Pete heard the rattle of his breath carrying across the distance. Pete shivered.

  The next day the man came into the church just as Father Gabriel was beginning to speak. He wore overalls and soiled white sneakers, one of them unlaced. He sauntered in front of the altar, facing the assembly, and put his finger to his lips, making a long, quiet shushing noise. “What is this?” roared Father Gabriel. “Who in blazes are you?”

  The man did not turn to look at him. “I am the saint with no name,” he said, “but you can call me Amos. I have come very far, from the other edge of the land. It is the eighth day of the ninth month of the tenth year, and I bring you news
of the world. But not the one you can see. I bring you news of the real world.”

  “Why do you all just sit there?” Father Gabriel thumped on the altar. “Somebody do something!”

  “I do not set my face against you,” the stranger went on. “The revealed Word is not easy to hear but it will save us all. Follow me.” He walked slowly to the door and went out.

  “Did he mean we were supposed to go after him?” Brother Walter asked meekly.

  “Shut your gob, you simpleton,” howled Father Gabriel. “Who let this madman in? Do you think we can have crazy people coming in and out, on top of everything else? I will get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “I found him sleeping in the bakery this morning,” said Brother James. “He told me he was hungry. I gave him food. We deal in charity here, Father.”

  “Don’t talk to me about charity. The man is a loon. I can’t help it if everything’s gone to hell in a handbasket, but I’ll be damned if we will give refuge to a maniac. I am calling in the authorities.”

  “Do you think that’s wise, Father?”

  “I will be the judge of what is wise, Brother James.”

  9

  Two police officers arrived half an hour later. “What took you so long?” Father Gabriel demanded. One of the officers was a tall man with a single thick eyebrow cutting across his forehead from side to side. The other was a small woman with oversized pants that flared out at her hips. Her cap was perched at an angle on her bunched-up hair. Both looked uneasy.

  “You didn’t say it was an emergency,” said the man. “I got the papers right here. It don’t say anything about an emergency.”

  “Of course it’s an emergency,” snapped Father Gabriel. “We have had an intruder. If the place were burning to the ground would you need to be told it was urgent?”

  The officer blinked at his notebook. “I don’t see nothing here about a fire,” he said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First things first. I am Officer Stingo and this here is Officer Lund.” Officer Lund put her hand on top of her cap to hold it in place as she nodded. “We’re here to check into your complaint. Now, you say there was an intruder?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “And what exactly was it that this intruder done?”

  Father Gabriel closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Intruded,” he said.

  “Was this alleged intruder of the male or female gender?”

  “It was a man—a crazy man who came out of nowhere and walked right in here without so much as a by-your-leave.”

  Officer Stingo scratched his cheek with his pen and then scrawled something down on his pad. “Men don’t come out of nowhere, sir,” he said. “That’s one thing you can be sure of. Now, you’re telling me this alleged male intruder was uninvited?”

  Officer Lund was slowly circling the foyer, inspecting the location, her hand on her cap as she looked up at the rafters or down at the hardwood floor. Father Gabriel watched her with narrow eyes. “Yes, the intruder was uninvited,” he said. “You could say that is the essence of what made him an intruder.”

  “And how exactly would you describe this alleged male intruder, sir?”

  “I already told you. He was crazy. What the devil is she doing?” Officer Lund was crouched down, poking at the floor.

  “Loose plank, sir,” she said. “Someone might trip.”

  “I’ll see to it promptly,” said Father Gabriel, but his sarcasm seemed to be lost on them.

  “Is there anything under this floor, sir?”

  “Yes. The ground.”

  “You shouldn’t take these things lightly, sir. Some of these intruders are sly ones. You never know where they might be hiding out. Now, I believe you were about to describe him.”

  Brother James stepped forward from the group that stood watching from the hall. He was holding his rosary. It dangled before him from his clasped hands. The silver crucifix glinted. “He had a glow,” said Brother James. “He had a heavenly glow. It was like he was lit from within. His skin was the purest of the pure, like . . . alabaster.”

  Officer Stingo nodded. “Male Caucasian,” he said, jotting it down.

  “And his eyes,” added Brother John, his voice thick and trembling. “His eyes blazed. They pierced right through you but bathed you in their warmth.”

  “Color?” asked Officer Stingo.

  “They had no earthly color,” said Brother John. “They were not of this world.”

  Uncertain what to record in response to this, Officer Stingo tapped the pen against the pad and squinted. Brother Walter screamed, hopped, flailed his arms, and ran off down the hall.

  “Who was that?” asked Officer Stingo. “Seems suspicious.”

  “Never mind about him,” said Father Gabriel. “I want to know what has gotten into everybody. You all talk about this stranger as if he were some sort of a prophet.”

  “He said he was a saint,” said Brother James, drawing his clasped hands to his chin, “and I believed him.”

  Father Gabriel gasped. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “Where is this saint now, sir?” asked Officer Stingo.

  “He’s not a saint, damn it all—and by this time he could be in the next county for all I know, even if he was going by ox-cart!”

  Officer Lund approached Brother Dominic, staring into his face. “Don’t I know you from someplace?” she asked.

  Brother Dominic batted his eyes. “I used to be in pictures,” he said.

  “It is you.” Officer Lund clapped her hand to her heart. “Morty McGrew, Boy Genius! I’ve loved you since I was a kid. Will you sign my field book?”

  “Oh, for the love of God,” cried Father Gabriel.

  Officer Stingo placed his pen to his pad, poised to write. “Could you describe this ox-cart, sir?” he asked.

  The officers searched the abbey and the grounds with Father Gabriel following them, waving his arms and shouting instructions that they ignored. They covered the yard and searched the barn. “Loose planks back here too, sir,” said Officer Lund, tapping at the wall behind the trough. “Oh, get on with it, get on with it!” said Father Gabriel. They looked inside cabinets and under pews, into teapots and holy vessels. They opened the door of every cell and searched under every bed. No sign of an intruder was found.

  But he was still there somewhere, Pete was sure of it. At first it was only a feeling. Then there were signs. The next day, after he washed the kitchen floor and was starting on the refectory, he heard a clanging sound behind him. He hurried back to the kitchen and found footprints tracking across the wet floor, leading out the rear door. The footprints were shaped like two half moons with curlicue patterns of circles and lines. At night he heard a stirring outside his cell. At first he thought it might be Brother Dominic, but there was no knock, and then he caught a whiff of smoke. He hurried to the door and peered into the hall. It was empty. But it was the strange kind of emptiness left behind in the split second after someone had just been there.

  That was a kind of emptiness Pete knew. All his life he had been aware of it. If his faith was true, it meant there was a hidden presence in everything. As a boy he thought if he looked hard enough, he would be able to see it. As he grew, he knew this was wrong. Faith meant not needing to see. The presence was there but escaped ordinary senses. Then Pete lived in a constant state of almost seeing. Every place was like a room where a bright light had just gone off. Always, Pete felt he could almost see what was left of that light, which still burned elsewhere. It made everything he looked at seem fleeting, like passing birds glimpsed from the corner of the eye. He scanned the world’s surface and thought it was like staring into a big blank sky filled with beautiful clouds that were too high, or too deep, or too far away to be evident. To believe they were there all the same was the only way he knew to find that the world was not empty.

  The footprints he had seen in the kitchen, thought Pete, were exactly the kind a sneaker would leave.

&n
bsp; 10

  Everything appeared to return to normal, for what that was worth. If anything, things got better. The brothers were all in high spirits. Even Brother James and Brother Matthew greeted Pete with good cheer as they passed. At choir, everyone sang in clear and faithful voices. Days went by in which Brother Walter had no run-ins with the ants. Brother John’s twisted hands straightened out a little, and Brother Frederic’s sayings tended a bit more toward the New Testament. All the while, there were odd comings and goings, and Pete had no idea what it all meant.

  Father Gabriel took to his room. Hours of prayer went on as usual, though with few in attendance. Pete went into the church for the afternoon mass to find no one there but Brother Louis, who was kneeling at a front pew. Pete had not seen him since that day on the hill. He looked up at the ceiling when he heard Pete come in. Pete knew there was no point in asking him where everybody was. Even if he were not under a vow of silence, Brother Louis would not waste his breath on Pete.

  Brother Louis drew himself up and slowly walked with his head bowed to where Pete stood in the back. His footsteps on the hard floor echoed. He stood beside Pete without looking at him.

  “I don’t have anything against you,” said Pete, “as long as you leave Neb alone.”

  Brother Louis kept his head bowed. His eyes were steely and calm. His breathing was heavy, and his nostrils flared. He stood stock-still for a long moment. Then he raised his arm and swept it to his side. It caught Pete by the shoulder and knocked him down. He hit the hard edge of a pew and then fell to the ground. Without turning to look down at Pete, Brother Louis stalked out.

  11

  By the light of a candle, Pete was looking in a mirror at the bruises on his side that night when Brother Dominic knocked. “What happened to you?” Brother Dominic asked when he saw the bruises. “I’ve got some makeup for that if you want it. A solid foundation and then a little light cover work, brushed in just right. You’d be amazed.”