by Paul Kelly
Shona had always been one of the few who were top of the class and his memory formed a picture before him ... Miss Kemp had dusted the blackboard and rubbed her hands together to remove the residue of chalk dust from between her fingers.
“We will discuss the prospects of leaving school this morning, and taking up your places in the adult world outside of this class room.”
The teacher exclaimed. “Can you give me any ideas of what you would like to do when you leave? Which career you would choose to follow?” he remembered very clearly her saying that before she looked around the classroom and her eyes narrowed behind her silver framed spectacles.
Yes, he remembered that. He remembered every detail of that day…
There was no response to Miss Kemp. She moved her head from side to side, blinking her enquiry further as she did so.
“Well you can’t stay here all your lives . . . that’s for sure,” she snarled, rebuking her audience as she gazed at her fingernails, stretching her hands out before her. Gradually the voices in the classroom became audible and uncertain young minds began to ruminate about the facts of a livelihood, away from the caring attentions of Miss Kemp; Girls mainly choosing to become teachers or to enter the nursing profession. Debbie Long wanted to be a concert pianist and Fiona McEwan, a doctor, but Shona always wanted to become a lawyer. The boys chose to be plumbers and electricians and bricklayers and a few were keen to join the constabulary.
It was Shona who spoke out in front of the class... Oh yes, he remembered that well ... How could he ever forget?
“Fern wants to be a singer, Miss,” she called out as she turned her eyes to look at him and Miss Kemp stood in silence as a titter went round the room. She waited for the din to settle.
“I have heard you have a nice voice, Fern. Do you really want to pursue this as a career?” the teacher asked, but Fern did not have the opportunity to answer, before Shona interrupted again…
“Ask him to sing, Miss.” she cried at the top of her voice and more tittering pursued and one of the boys muttered under his breath, “Can I hold your handbag, Fern?” … “Let’s have a love song, then and give us a kiss,” he sniggered and Fern glared at Shona, rebuking her with his eyes. The class fell silent and to the surprise of all present Fern stood up…Yes he could remember that moment well ... there was a certain triumph, a sarcastic defiance in his mind as he stood there.
“What would you like to hear, Miss?” he remembered asking in a nervous challenge.
“Your own choice will do very nicely, Fern,” she remarked and in an instant, Debbie Long took her place at the piano and Fern spoke softly and shyly into her ear, but as he began to sing, he forget the agony of the moment and no-one stirred. He could see Shona again as she stood with pride and listened with affection to his voice and she looked repeatedly at Miss Kemp to ensure that she was listening to every word ... She was.
‘If she should fall to earth from high; sway in the air, And should she prick her eye on thorn, Then LOVE has surely looked away …
He remembered standing still and silent after the first verse and that Miss Kemp’s eyes had encouraged him to continue as Debbie’s fingers returned to the keyboard.
“More ... More” he heard them cry to his amazement as one by one his classmates took up their demand and he could hear the sound of feet stamping on the floor.
As silence resumed, so was his song and he continued to conclusion.
‘How could she fail to soar beyond the gates of heaven?
To leave this earth in happy flight,
Or fail to kiss the moon ‘ Goodnight’ …
If God should bring her to His light…
Then LOVE has looked her way.
He had wanted to leave the room at that point, but Shona had come towards him smiling. He could remember the look on her face as though it were yesterday.
“That was beautiful, Fern.” She had said, “You should continue your career in singing. You should... You really should.”
Miss Kemp smiled as she put away her books for the day, and the gigglers skulked past her hurriedly. Fern could feel Shona’s fingers tighten around the palm of his hand as they walked home through the field of yellow corn together that day ... such a long time after the classroom ordeal ... and with her matrimonial thoughts…
Chapter Five
FERN PRACTICED VERY HARD FOR THE FORTHCOMING WEDDING, and despite the impending London audition, he still wasn’t sure of the meaning of the words of the hymn, but he felt confident as he sang it. He remembered the look Peter had given him that day he had sung in church when he appeared to be thinking something that Fern did not understand and he shrugged his shoulders and reached for his coat.
“Maybe priests hear things differently, or something. They are different after all. I mean, they’re not like ordinary men, are they?”
Fern enquired of himself and his voice echoed in the surrounding air.
***
Evening was drawing to a close and little white puffy clouds lazily meandered across the burnt sky like sheep contentedly grazing, absorbed in their mundane ritual. The air was cool, fresh, and ‘ready for the taking,’ as Mahon would say, and Fern set out for the waterfall. He wanted to think…He needed to be alone. He thought about the forthcoming wedding and how two people would be two people one moment and only one person the next day. Yes, yes, he thought, that was what the Bible said . . .This mystery intrigued him. It must be more than sex that makes them one, he thought, and strained to capture the image of his mother’s relationship with Stephen Lockton, but again he was confused, with only his instinct as his assurance.
“What is love?” he asked himself and he could feel something in his heart that made him stop to think. Tom Mahon didn’t seem to be able to give him the answer. Maybe Father Spinelli would know. Fern loved his mother, but that was a different kind of love to getting married. He loved the animals on the farm. He loved Jonty, particularly when he was mischievous and he began to talk to himself, thinking that by talking aloud, he could resolve his dilemma.
“I am sure I have never loved any one person with whom I had wanted to be alone; any one person that I would think about and dream about all day; one person that …” Fern felt an unusual arousal within himself as he spoke his thoughts aloud again and his body involuntarily responded to his thinking. He put his hand into his chest and touched his heart to know that the heartbeat was faster than ever. . .
“Does everyone feel like this? Is this love?”
He walked on fast, then faster still, until he broke into a run. The ache of his yearnings pursued him fiercely and he reached the waterfall breathless and confused before he fell to his knees and scooped the cooling waters into his hands, throwing it over his face. Again and again he went through this motion and his hair fell loosely over his brow. He rubbed his eyes to relieve the sting of the water and lay down on the bank. The roar of the waterfall leered at his dilemma as he rolled over onto his stomach to find relief for his aching sensation and his ears pounded, deafening the noises that surrounded him as he thrust himself in agony against the soft turf.
Time stopped for a moment in the ecstasy of his joy, and he lay still, breathless and confused and with his heart beating madly.
“Is this love? Is this the feeling of love? What is happening to me?” he called out and the waterfall roared ... and continued to roar as the foaming lather beat the rocks and splashed itself furiously into the air in mad jubilation. The giant understood where man would find it incomprehensible as Fern lay silently in admiration of his magnificent friend and the waterfall continued to roar without respite. Fern reached out to touch the crisp jewels that splattered carelessly around him before he took his fingers and traced a tear from his eye with the water, and without further thought, he put his finger into his mouth.
It was refreshing. He had wanted to cry wi
thout success for such a long time, particularly after the death of his mother. If his tears were not real, his feelings surely were and he repeated the action of the water tears several times, smiling as he did so. His mother would have scolded him for doing this, he was sure, but the water had purity about it … like a kiss that imbued strength.
Fern thought again about his mother. She had loved him and been so kind to him. Hers was a strict code of life, which he had often found difficult to understand and even more difficult to accept. To her, God was everything. Whatever He demanded, requested or allowed, was accepted of Him without question… God could pull you here, there or anywhere and that direction was your vocation in life. Hers was a God who should never be denied and she would accept all and everything He did, with strength and a will that would strike fear into a well-trained soldier. Furthermore, like a soldier, TEARS WERE OUT.
Tears were capitulation and one should endure to the end …Fern put his finger once more into the water and traced a line of the cold pure liquid across his eyelid. It trickled down his cheek tickling him as it moved and disturbed his quiet introspection.
He wanted to remember his mother for her kindness and for her love and as he walked away from the waterfall, he could see again her beautiful eyes as they followed him wherever he went. He blushed as he thought of her more ‘human’ attributes, when she wasn’t giving her all to God. He was nearly five when he had crushed his little fingers in the kitchen door and she had sat down and blew on them. The pain was intense, so she took his hand and put it into her bosom, under her apron and he remembered the consolation of the warmth and gentleness of her breast.
She lulled him on her knee and stroked his hair and he knew the injury to be compensated in the gentle sensual nursing that he had received in return. Then there was the time, when he was afraid of the storm in the night. She came into his room and he could see her silhouetted against the window as the lightning struck its rays mercilessly against the ascetic whitewashed wall.
“There… there darling… There is nothing to fear. Mamma’s here,” she would say as she snuggled close to him in his bed and he could feel again the warmth of her body as she slipped between the bedclothes to keep him comforted. He remembered how he had touched her breast again, thinking it was the due reward for his fear… An accepted reward for trying to be brave and she had not stopped him doing that, even, when after some time, and he had thought she might be asleep, he had carefully pulled down the neck of her night-dress so that he could see her breast whenever the lightning struck again, but his hopes were never realised as the storm subsided, however, the peace and gentle pleasure he got from fondling her, gave him great satisfaction and he wished that she would come to his bed more often. The next time there was such a storm, he was eleven years of age, but she did not come to comfort him and these were the nocturnal pleasures that he did not want to share with anyone even if they were passing with his childhood …
Chapter Six
STEPHEN TRIED TO EXPLAIN THROUGH HIS STAMMERING, as Fern enquired further about his mother’s funeral. He looked at Fern intently and his speech was incoherent. His explanation faltered.
“Yes, your mother was a Catholic. She agreed not to attend a service in the Catholic Church when we were married. Not to attend a Catholic Church,” he repeated “Why did you have such a ruling?” asked Fern.
“To ensure harmony between us, that’s why. I couldn’t have two loyalties of religion, could I?”
“So it was your rule, not my mother’s?”
“She agreed. Yes, she agreed,” he repeated.
“Then why did you call in a Catholic priest at the end?”
Stephen looked around the room and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.
“Your mother wanted me to do that for her and I felt I could not deny her this last wish, considering what she had agreed for me. Your mother is dead now Fern. It’s been over six months ... six months,” he repeated angrily, “and she died peacefully in the church of her choice.
Why can’t you leave things like that?” he screamed, but Fern turned on him and his eyes were ablaze.
“But she couldn’t live in the church of her choice, could she?” he snapped in anger.
“That was OUR agreement. She had a free will; she did not have to do it... Did not have to do it, I say,” “But would you have married her had she said no?” Fern went on as Stephen blew his nose.
“I don’t want to hear any more of this matter. What is done is done.”
Stephen’s was angry and excited as he stormed from the room, repeating his last phrase, “What is done is done,” but Fern quickly followed him and confronted him on the stairs.
“Did you love my mother, Stephen?” he demanded as he watched his step-father ascend the stairs.
Stephen’s eyes were blank and his mouth began to open slowly. He remained poised as though he could not answer the question. There was a long silence.
“I wanted her,” said Stephen at length, “because I had loved her when she was very young. She was Anna Thompson to me then.” He sat down on the stair as though he could walk no further and rested his head in his hands. “I loved her with a love that knew no bounds. I would have forsaken my vocation had she accepted me then. I too was very young. I even thought I might become a Catholic, but that would only have been to please her and I knew I would never have the heart for it. When she married your father, I was burning with jealousy and I knew I had lost her. I had lost her ... Do you hear me? I knew then that she had never loved me as I had loved her and ... and I did things I should never have done and which I have regretted all my life; Terrible thing, Fern.
Things I am disgusted to talk about,” he cried as he looked about him in despair. “I couldn’t attend the wedding. Not the wedding ... I didn’t want to acknowledge it at all. I went away and entered the Ministry. I thought that by doing that I could atone for the wrong doings of the past ... but a man takes his body with him Fern ... even if he wants to walk with God.”
An even longer silence ensued before Stephen spoke again. His eyes were red and tearful and he kept dabbing them with his handkerchief. Slowly he began to compose himself.
“It was after your father had been dead for over a year that I took the opportunity to ask your mother to marry me. I knew when she agreed, very reluctantly, that I had lost her forever but I was still besotted by her, and I wanted her at any cost. I wanted to accept her on any terms, with that last exception, that she would only agree not to attend any service in the Catholic Church, since I was a Minister of a church that didn’t recognise Rome, but we were both very soon to realise the fruitlessness and folly of our bargain. She was cold towards me and in many ways I could understand that. I am not the man your father was, Fern. I am a passionate man; a man with a lot of love to give; a man with DESIRES, like any other man even if I am a Minister of the Church I just wanted a small share in her love; some small showing of affection, but your mother was a very single minded woman and I knew that I would have to be content with the crumbs from the table ... She completely turned from me when I asked her not to bring you up in the Catholic Faith…It is a faith that is abhorrent to me, but the moment she agreed to this I knew I had lost all her love, and I realised then that she would NEVER love me even in some small measure, as I wanted her to love me ...as I wanted her to love me, I say ... We lived our lives without pain or pleasure from that moment on, because even pain with the one you love can be a delight in itself ... delight in itself, I say ... We lived in a world of total apathy, but she was with me and that alone gave me great pleasure, even if I continued to live a life that would have disgusted her ... disgusted her, I say, because she was such a good woman. Do you understand that Fern?”
Stephen seemed lost and very insignificant after his confession. He looked around for an exit to forestall anything further he would have to say, but Fern gave him the release h
e sought and quickly sped upstairs. As he closed the door of his bedroom behind him, he could hear Stephen’s pathetic appeal.
“Fern, please try to understand...”
Fern desperately wanted to cry, if only he could ... his throat hurt; his eyes ached and his nose wanted to burst, but there were no tears.
That was a luxury denied to Fernando Zambrano. He felt uncontrollable in his own body, but his thoughts discarded the discomfort of the moment and grief possessed all his faculties. He lay on his bed shaking; his mind fevered with anger and confusion and hurt that his mother should have acted as she had done. Stephen sat down on the stairs outside and sighed. He was a pathetic sight. The Manse had never before known so much sorrow or unhappiness.
Chapter Seven
“FRIDAY…THE THIRTEENTH. Are you superstitious Fern?” asked Tom as they settled in the train for their journey to London. The night train would arrive on the thirteenth at 10.0am but the interview was not until 2.30pm. “We’ll have time to have a look around and have some lunch, eh…” Tom spoke with enthusiasm but Fern’s smile was weak. His endeavours to join in Tom’s spirit of adventure were not as enthusiastic as he would have wanted it to be. He wished Peter had been there with him as he opened the windows of the train and looked along the platform … but Peter was nowhere to be seen. The whistle blew and the train pulled slowly out of the platform.
“That’s the third time you’ve opened those windows. Who are you looking for?”
