by Paul Kelly
“Thank you, that is kind.”
The two men made their way along the corridor to the elevator and went up to the second floor, but the lift rose so slowly, it would have been quicker to walk.
“Are you a Catholic priest?” the Porter enquired as the lift began to rise.
“Yes, I am.”
“Thought you might be…You look like one. Proddi Ministers wear grey and things don’t they? You don’t see many of them in plain black.”
There was a moment of silence before either spoke again, whilst Peter smiled at the description of his Protestant brother in Christ.
“Are you a Catholic?” Peter enquired politely and the Porter looked at him with half closed eyes.
“No, but my wife is one ... This thing hardly moves ... it needs a good seein’ to” he said as he referred to their lack of speed.
“Do you find any problem, with the situation?” Peter enquired further realising that he could be imposing and hoping that he had not offended, but the Porter looked at the lift buttons and answered without looking at the priest.
“Not really ... except for the kids that is,” the Porter added slowly and Peter found himself making further enquiries against his natural reticence.
“How many children do you have?” he asked.
The man looked surprised and the lift stopped at the second floor.
“None, and we don’t want none either.”
He leaned out of the elevator door and pointed.
“Straight along there and take the first corridor on your right and that will bring you out to Ward Seven.”
“Thank you and I hope everything works out for you, as you would wish it.”
The Porter’s mouth fell open and he scratched his head as he widened his eyes… That was not quite the response he had expected from a Catholic priest. Nevertheless, Peter arrived at the Ward according to the instructions of the childless man, where his father lay deathly still under snow white sheets; his dark complexion betraying the signs of his infirmity and Peter noticed the deep lines around his father’s eyes that depicted the agony of his state. He had aged greatly since he had seen him last and that was only two weeks before his Retreat.
“Hello, Dad.”
The young priest spoke very softly and his father opened his eyes and smiled gently as he saw his son. His lips trembled, but it was the deep purple colouring of his father’s mouth that concerned Peter as he sat down to take his father’s hand; the hand that he knew so well of old; the same hand that would throw him into the air with pride when he was a tiny little boy. The same hand that caressed him and smacked him according to the need and Peter’s love for his father was confirmed in that moment and he leaned forward to kiss his forehead.
“Peter, Peter ... I’m so glad you could come. I did so want to see you again.”
Mr. Spinelli did not move as he spoke and the bed was unruffled with his stillness.
“I’ve brought you a few things that Father Kerrigan thought you might need, Dad,” said Peter as he placed the holdall near the bed and opened it, but Mr. Spinelli did not hear him.
“I hope I haven’t brought you away from your urgent duties, Peter,”
His father spoke with anxious concern.
“No Father, there is no need to worry about that. Life is fairly steady these days and besides, I wanted to come.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
His father swallowed with difficulty and his face grew ashen with pain.
“Don’t talk Dad, I understand. I just want to be here,” Peter added softly and Mr. Spinelli smiled.
“I’m not going to die, just yet, Father Spinelli, not just yet.” Mr.
Spinelli announced proudly and Peter pressed his hand gently.
“Sshhh! Let’s hear no more of that talk. Hush your mouth ... Look!
I’ve brought this along for you to see.”
He opened the holdall and brought out the photograph he had taken from the flat and his father’s eyes widened with pleasure when he saw it.
“She was beautiful, Peter, truly beautiful. You take after her; you have her lovely blue eyes,” he said and then his face clouded over as if he had spoken out of place ... as Peter studied the strong lines of his father’s face. His dark hair was greying at the temples and his chin was chiselled firm below his full and sensual lips. He must have been a strikingly handsome man in his younger days and Peter rebuked himself that he had never noticed this before. Children take so much for granted in their parents, he thought, thinking of his father’s grave illness and how it had added years to his appearance, but when he opened his eyes, his deep set brown eyes, Peter remembered Bolarne..
“Peter?” his father called anxiously, “Peter are you still there, son?”
“I am still here, Father.”
His father lay still for a short time as if to gather some faraway thought to his mind.
“Don’t talk if it hurts, Dad,” he said urgently, but his father dismissed Peter’s protestation.
“I must tell you what is in my heart ... I must, Peter.” Peter patted his father’s hand and leaned closer.
“I didn’t want you to be a priest, Peter; not as your mother did. I know now I was wrong and that she was right. You were born to be what you are and you will be a great priest; a credit to the Church.” Peter looked away from the face that he loved with doubt in his mind, regarding his father’s prophecy, for he could not rid his mind of the other face with the dark brown eyes that gave him so much pleasure and happiness and Mr. Spinelli’s face writhed with pain as he coughed.
“Please, father, don’t say anymore. Please ...” he implored, but again his father dismissed his protests.
“I wanted to have grandchildren. I wanted to fill a house with lots and lots of children, because your mother and I could not have any ...Not any more ...” The sick man hesitated for a few moments before he spoke again. “Not after we had you and I wanted a house full of little Spinellis. I wanted a granddaughter who would look like your mother,” he said with light in his eyes and Peter was beginning to feel like an utter disappointment to his father and even to himself as he listened to the words that had been spoken and he stayed for a long time by the bedside until the patient became drowsy. Mr. Spinelli dropped off into a deep sleep still smiling at his dream and Peter kissed his hand and tucked it under the warm blanket before he stood up to take his leave.
“Sleep well, and I’ll see you again soon, please God,” he said as he placed his thumb on his father’s forehead and made the sign of the cross before he left the ward.
***
“Going down, there?”
The childless Porter spoke to Peter as he hurried towards the lift and Peter smiled and thanked him.
“Seriously, Father ... I do have a little problem about ... well what we spoke about ... you know?”
“There is no problem that cannot be put right,” Peter added with assurance and the Porter looked at him with deep curiosity.
“I would like to talk to you sometime, Father.”
The elevator moved down slowly. Even more slowly, it seemed than when they had ascended.
“I am not from these parts,” said Peter, “but any Catholic priest would be happy to talk with you and to assist you if you wish.”
The Porter stopped the lift before it reached the floor.
“It’s all about this moral stuff, the wife goes on about. I don’t understand any of it. Why can’t my Nancy have an abortion? She’s only sixteen, for God’s sake.”
Peter looked around the lift in confusion.
“Nancy ... Nancy is your wife, I presume…” he asked, “but didn’t you discuss these matters before you got married?”
The Porter touched the lift button and they began to move downwards again.
&
nbsp; “Well, as a matter of fact, we didn’t have much time. We had to get married, you see.”
The lift door opened and the two men stepped out and Peter walked along the corridor that led to the hospital main exit as he talked to his new companion.
“Try to see your Parish priest, but don’t worry. You should try to be as happy as you can in your marriage. Here’s my telephone number, give me a ring if you get into difficulties and I’ll do what I can for you, but I think it would be better if both you and your wife discussed the matter together with a priest, face to face. At all costs, stay happy and always remain in love. God bless you.”
The Porter put his hand out and touched Peter’s arm.
“You’re different from other priests Father. You seem to understand. I think it would be better if priest’s could marry, then they would understand better what it is to be in love.”
Peter turned to his friend.
“Not everyone is called to the married state, my friend. Not everyone has a wedding garment, if you will pardon me quoting the Bible ... but we are all equipped to do what Almighty God wants us to do on this earth and marriage is a sacrament. It is a state wherein two people can love each other totally and completely and their bodies are as one… but that does not exclude respect for one another. Wear the garment that God has given you and be happy. Remember that God is LOVE and love is pure… It is accepting and forgiving, not only of others, but also and probably more importantly of all, accepting and forgiving of ourselves …” Peter was amazed that he should remember so clearly the voice and the advice of the Retreat Father and the Porter looked at him in amazement.
“I’ve never thought about it as a ‘wedding garment’ before, Father,” he said solemnly as he turned and bowed slightly to the priest. “I’ll tell my Nancy. I think she’d like to hear that.”
The Porter walked back along the corridor towards the lift and helped a lady into her wheelchair.
“Going up ... ever so slowly,” he announced as the priest left the building.
***
Peter limped across the road as the bus drew up. He was anxious to get back to Bolarne before nightfall and he also had a train to catch and the clouds were already beginning to gather in darkness
Chapter Thirty Three
FERN WINCED AS THE NEEDLE STRUCK HOME and the nurse made little effort to comfort him.
“Big boys don’t cry,” she remarked petulantly and walked away with her surgical tray. Fern was receiving four injections a day and he was tired of them. His bottom ached as much as his chest and he wondered what it was all about, but he consoled himself with the thought of his holiday with Peter and fantasised, even with little hope, about Italy and the sunshine.
“How are you today, young man?”
Doctor Carswell approached his bed and disturbed his dream but Fern knew his expressions of habit as he came to examine him and the same ceremony was exacted with the same procedure every time. The doctor did his job and then covered Fern with the blanket but not before his usual remarks.
“Oh! You’re just a bit of a boy!” ... he would say and Fern marvelled at Doctor Carswell’s keen anatomical observations…
***
Tom Mahon was awkward as he sauntered into the ward. He was not used to hospitals and even Shona was born at home. Neither he nor Rose were hospital orientated, he would say and the smell of the medications and the disinfectants put the fear of death into him and he wished he could be a thousand miles away, but his face lit up when he saw Fern. Rose sent him all sorts of ‘goodies’,,, in a large plastic bag but that day Fern was not as well as he himself would have liked to have been for the visit of the Maestro ... however, he made every effort to hide his disposition and hoped that Tom would not stay too long, but the Choir Master was oblivious of the situation and “held court” as he always loved to do. The concert was the subject of the agenda and Tom would not hear about cancellations. There would always be another time for Italy and other such trivialities and he was resolute that they would have a concert at Glasgow ... and this time, Tom wanted to ensure that Father Spinelli did not have information of the actual venue. He was a priest with good intentions, but he didn’t understand the mind of singers and musicians …
“Fern ... Fern, what is the matter? What is happening?”
Tom called loudly for the nurse and a screen was swiftly skirted around Fern’s bed and Staff nurse Ritchie asked Mahon to leave for a few moments, but he was distraught and could not understand what was happening as Mr. Carswell swept into the ward in his usual emergency decorum with his stethoscope swinging haphazardly around his neck. He went behind the screen and nurse Ritchie retired to get the Sister and to await further instructions. Needles were again plied in profusion and blood samples were dispatched post haste to the laboratory. This action was routine to Carswell but confusion and distress to Fern, who had not understood that he had haemorrhaged and Mr. Carswell assured his patient that everything was in order and made another examination of his chest. The doctor always made his chest examinations by stripping the patient naked and studying the form with his hand stroking his chin. Fern thought this action must accentuate the diagnosis in some way as he heard again the anticipated remarks.
“Just a bit of a boy; a bit of a boy” ...and Fern wondered what would happen if the learned doctor had discovered that he was just a bit of a girl, but his frivolous thoughts did not affect, nor help Tom Mahon, who was waiting outside with troubled concern. Nurse Ritchie suggested that he should return home and come back another time and he did so, wearily and in confusion, with a heart full of despair. His prodigy was a source of serious alarm to him and he did not know how to cope, but Rose tried to comfort him as she scolded him simultaneously for having pestered Fern about the concert.
“There’s plenty of time for that sort of thing later,” she said, “Let Fern get well first and then we can discuss anything else when he is more able to handle it.”
Her feminine logic and sense of balance stilled Tom into silence as he made his way into the garden and Rose returned to her kitchen to dry her eyes on her kitchen towel, before she realized what she had done and reached for a handkerchief from her apron pocket. Her worried husband gazed long and hard at the bleak horizon and swallowed hard as his tears pressed out from his frightened eyes.
“What is the matter?” asked Shona as she returned to the house and Rose started to tell her of the events, but she was not allowed to complete her report before Shona had left again for the hospital.
***
She waited for what seemed an eternity before she was allowed in to see Fern. He was sitting up in bed but his face was pale and his eyes appeared even darker than usual. Faint blue circles lay under his eyelashes as they touched his cheeks.
“Don’t stay too long, please.” Staff-nurse Ritchie exercised her authority with calm deportment, but her heart beat anxiously for the patient that she too was beginning to find more attractive than she had ever imagined she would. She glanced hurriedly at Shona. “And don’t let him talk unless he really has to, or needs anything,” she added, and Shona took Fern’s hand in hers as nurse Ritchie moved away with a sad glint in her eye but Fern did not move. Shona stroked his fingers subconsciously and boldly leaned forward to kiss his forehead, pushing back the lock of his flaxen hair that had fallen there, as she put her head besides his, on the pillow and ran her fingers across his pale lips, lightly so as not to waken him. Slowly she took her finger from his lips and kissed it …
“My dearest darling, what is to become of us? If I could give you my own life, I would. My heart is breaking for your love. Your sweetness is life to me and I could not endure to live without you.” she murmured and Fern, who until this moment had remained still, began to breathe heavily. His face became blue as his breathing was constrained and his eyes opened widely before he fell back exhausted on his pillow.
“Breathe for me ... Breathe for me,” he moaned and then fell into a deep sleep.
“I think it would be better if you could leave now, please,” nurse Ritchie made her request, anxious to get back to her charge. She was due to finish her shift in five minutes but she was not concerned about time at that moment as she took a thermometer and flicked it in the air before she tucked it under Fern’s oxter and recorded his heartbeat against her own as she watched Shona leave the hospital.
***
Mr. Carswell looked at his watch and then at Fern.
“What religion is he?” he enquired gravely.
No-one could answer but nurse Ritchie had seen Peter at his bedside and had also seen the crucifix that Fern kept on his locker.
“He is a Catholic, I think,” she said softly and the Sister sent for Peter.
Chapter Thirty Four
“FATHER, I THINK FERN HAS HAD A SETBACK and they want you at the hospital.” Miss Harrison worded her message with sadness in her heart and Peter dressed as quickly as he could. He got into his car and struggled with the accelerator as his leg still hurt but he drove off regardless of any inconvenience to get to the hospital as quickly as he could and he got to the bedside, just as the nurse was changing the patient. Peter withdrew from the screens as he took the Holy Oils and put them on a table nearby, but his impatience was infuriating him.
“Why doesn’t she get on with it? What’s keeping her so long ...” he moaned as he pulled out the purple stole that he would hang around his neck in a moment ... When she was finished …
“Oh, My God ... How cruel can You be? How much more do You demand from me?” Peter complained as he sniffed and removed a single tear from his eye with his thumb.
“You can go in now, Father.”
Nurse Ritchie moved away from the screen as she spoke. She should have been off duty more than an hour ago.
