by Paul Kelly
“I wondered why old Carswell went on about travelling abroad, this morning. He wouldn’t stop. I suppose he was forewarning me that a trip to Italy is out, at least for quite some time.”
“He wouldn’t have known about my letter, Fern, and anyway, you will be better soon and then I will come for you and take you back with me.”
Peter wanted to make Fern happy; to say or do something that would bring laughter to his face… at the very least, to console his apparent despair.
“When I am better . .?” Fern repeated Peter’s words as he looked longingly at his friend and he would have told him about the little poem he had composed, but a sudden shyness overtook him and he began to wonder how much Peter knew of the mountain experience for he had been unconscious most of the time and he blushed at the memory.
“Are you all right, Fern? Do you want to go back to bed? You are looking rather flushed.”
Fern reached for a glass of water.
“I’m fine ... really fine,” he said and they talked some more for quite some time, but not with joy or laughter until Peter wheeled Fern back to his bed and tucked him in comfortably. He was surprised to realise just how much weight the young man had lost and as he left the hospital, his mind again was gripped with confusion and a fear that he was unable to comprehend. He did not know what would become of their friendship but he knew that this young man was very special to him ...Fern was like a shadow that followed him wherever he went ... He was like a replica of himself and he wanted to share the happiness of his feeling with someone, but with whom? Well, there was God ... and Miss Harrison, of course.... but how can you tell someone that you are a very ordinary man, without the slightest tendency to effeminacy or in any way gynandrous and in the same breath, explain that you love another man who is made, fibre by fibre, just as you are yourself...? And that you love him with a purity that shakes the living daylights out of you ... How? Just how do you do that?
Peter prayed that God had not forsaken him and that he was without illusion ...That his integrity had not become perverted by the withdrawal of grace.
Chapter Thirty- Seven
ROSE AND TOM sat alone in their living room, but they could find little to say to each other. Even Jonty lay on the rug by the fire and appeared unhappy; dry nosed and with his wrinkled face upturned. He would lick his paws all over with his large pink tongue, but he was listless and the joy of his simple life was not with him as he scratched his ear and winced.
“I’m sure he has a canker, Dad,” Shona remarked, making her observations as she prepared for her journey to London, “ He’s always scratching his ear, and I think it hurts him,” she added, but Tom Mahon made no movement. He had not heard. “Dad, did you hear what I said? I think Jonty needs to go to the vet.”
“What? Oh Yes, Shona, I’ll see to it,” Tom replied lethargically and Shona understood only too well the feelings of her parents, for she too, had lost the joy of her life. She had written a few words to Fern which Rose had promised to take with her on her visit to the hospital where she intended to find out all she could about tuberculosis. Rose wanted to know all there was to know about the illness, and yet she was afraid of the consequences of her learning ... and there was a strange silence throughout the house.
***
Fern lay back in bed and his face was contorted with pain. His chest burned and he wanted to scratch but the scratching gave no relief or satisfaction and he glanced around swiftly to ensure there was no audience as the perspiration stood out in beads on his forehead and he began to breathe heavily.
“Strange,” he murmured softly into his pillow,” My mother always said it was weak to cry. It was something that men never did,” he said as his dreams recalled his vivid memories of when he was a little boy.
He had fallen and cut his knee rather badly and his mother had found him crying ... She bathed and bandaged his wound before she took him in her arms to sing to him and the fall was worth it, just to receive that yearned-for cuddle…
“Let me dry those big diamonds from your eyes, my darling ...”
“I’m sorry, mummy ... I didn’t want to cry, but the pain is so sore ...” he had said and she had cuddled him, rocking him to and fro until the pain went away.
“These are not tears, my love, but diamonds ... precious diamonds.
Think of your tears in that way and of your heart as a deep red ruby.
Then you will be happy ... but always remember that, my darling.. Your heart is a ruby that glows more red as you love, brighter than the stars at night. Remember also, if you lose your love, or if you do NOT love, then your heart becomes an opal and the opal is also a beautiful jewel, pale and without colour, but different as it is affected by the mood of love. It is like lights playing on a piece of glass, reflecting the colour of that glass ... and the deeper you love ... the deeper the colour ... and the opal becomes a ruby once more...
ASK PETER ABOUT THESE THINGS AND HE WILL TELL You,” a voice reverberated in his ear and he sat upright, wincing as he moved with the pain in his side.
Fern moved awkwardly in his bed and opened his eyes as he tried to remember what his mother looked like in the dream. It must have been a dream and yet it was all so real except for his mother’s face and try as he may, he could not remember what she looked like and yet when he reflected when he was awake, he could see her face as clear as the day she died ... But how did his mother know that Peter knew all about love ... and diamonds and rubies and things ... How did she know? She had never met him ... and it was then he realized that he had indeed been dreaming ... but all the pain in his chest had gone and as he relaxed, his body had risen high in a cloud of pure air. His head felt as if filled with swansdown and he wanted to sleep again ... to sleep and to dream of the jewels that he possessed and which no-one knew he had, except his mother... and Peter. He imagined he was a little boy again and he knew the secret... How easy it would be to become a millionaire. All he had to do was to cry all those diamonds and ignore the fact that men didn’t do that sort of thing. How strange... He ruminated the confusion of his mind. All the things that mattered; all the essentials of his life …of his life, seemed to be so contradictory.
He was so full of love and yet he had to stifle the object of his affection, but his ruby was ablaze with colour and he wished that Peter could see it ... His confusions and contradictions alerted his mind and would not allow him the sleep he so desperately sought and his whole life appeared before him as a contradiction. The emerald is not red; nor the ruby green and the saffron amethyst is a folly... and yet, love is without contradiction... It is swift and straight as the shaft from an arrow... Fern rubbed the perspiration from his brow... The dove will not fly backwards; nor will the river flow upstream... LOVE IS TRUTH.
He licked his salted lips and a breeze from the open window nearby made him shudder.
“Let your ruby shine for whom it wills ... Gather your diamonds and love …For love is pure. It is kind and it is patient ... It is accepting and forgiving and cannot be put down. It is patient of criticism and defiant of human intolerance ... Yes, my darling, LOVE IS PURE...
Fern sat bolt upright in his delirium as the voice in his head trailed slowly into oblivion and his pyjama jacket was soaked in perspiration.
“Are you all right Fern?”
A probationary nurse called from the doorway into the ward but before he could answer nurse Ritchie appeared on the scene.
“I’ll look after this, nurse, thank you,” she snapped and dismissed the junior nurse with a wave of her hand as she came to Fern’s bed.
“Thank you nurse…I am all right; I think I must have been dreaming,” he said softly, but Ritchie smiled nervously, as she took his hand in hers.
“You’re a funny fellow, aren’t you?” she said as she took a cold sponge and wiped his forehead, calling again to her companion. “Nurse, can you help me to
do a bed bath here,” she called out and together they bathed the patient and made him comfortable, straightening his pillows and he felt more relaxed. “Try to get some sleep now, before the visitors come. You are looking rather tired,” the nurse said and Fern smiled as he turned to look out of the window.
Chapter Thirty Eight
TOM MOVED TOWARDS THE CUPBOARD under the stairs and Jonty pricked up his ears. His eyes were alert and he ran to the third step, as he always did when waiting to be taken for a run. He whined excitedly as he yawned with enthusiasm and his dock vibrated with uncontrollable verve.
“Come on laddie, we’ll go for a walk.”
Tom opened the cupboard door and took out the lead as the dog bounded down the three stairs in one leap and the lead secured before they left the house. He walked slowly across the fields, wet with dew from the fresh morning rain as Jonty ran ahead. There were no cares or worries for him in the canine world. He was fed, walked and loved and that was all he required to lead a happy and secure life. He moved across the fields with the graceful glide of a gazelle and Mahon looked on with admiration as Jonty panted wildly in mid-air, with his ears flowing in the wind and his jowls contorted as if being wrenched apart in ecstatic pain.
“Here boy, here Jonty ...Not too far there boy…”
Jonty returned to his master by way of a circular tour. He raced past Tom and came back to him from behind, but his halt was not so graceful as his glide, as his paws dug into the soft earth and he doubled up to terminate his exciting and breathless jaunt. Tom patted him and the dog licked his master’s fingers in appreciation. The whole world was right again for Jonty, and the Vet’s visit could wait, but Tom’s heart was heavy as he trudged on through the field. He walked into the woods and gathered a stick to throw for his faithful companion and the panting recommenced as Jonty seized the branch, shaking it mercilessly before bringing it back to Tom. They walked up to the waterfall and Tom could hear its torrential sound long before they arrived there, as it bellowed its welcome through the darkness under the trees and the leaves fell gently to the earth in whispering adoration of so majestic a creature. Tom stood beside the spray and Jonty barked loudly, dodging the water with playful glee, but the cascade screamed its terror on deaf ears, as Tom could not get Fern from his mind and the career that he had thought would span the world seemed to be almost extinct.
“I’ll never understand the ways of nature,” he complained, as he stood mutely before the mighty, spluttering foam and the giant preened himself as he put on his best performance, since he was never happier than when he had an audience, be it man or beast...or both.
‘Vincero ... Vincero’
Tom thrust his hands against his ears in an effort to shut out the voice that he loved so much but it would not be stilled.
‘VINCERO . . . ’
“You were beautiful lad and your voice was magnificent. Forgive me for my pride. Forgive me ...” he said as he summoned Jonty and made his way home.
Chapter Thirty Nine
STEPHEN HAD JUST FINISHED THE LAST FEW SENTENCES to his sermon for Sunday, as he always prepared this work on a Friday when Laura took the ladies for art and flower arrangement; a chore she secretly despised.
“Why I ever thought of marrying a Vicar, I’ll never know,” she sighed but she went about her work with the fixed smile that was expected of her station and the ladies of her Parish were edified …well, most of them. Laura was always very much the lady of the Manse. She dressed accordingly trusting that she would never have an accident, as her black satin underwear and pink suspenders were not for the eyes of common ambulance men ... until one day, when an ambulance man with a difference arrived to pick up his wife from the art class. Both he and Laura looked at each other and Laura had one of her fantasies ... This one was very handsome ... and very young.
Stephen pushed his notes aside. He was weary and unlike most men, was not looking forward to a relaxing weekend, for his work became more intense at that period. He was always weary on Saturdays and Sundays and fatigued with the labours of his office, whereas Laura’s ennui at that time caused him annoyance and made him irritable. She was usually at her worst on just those two days.
“Haven’t seen you here before,” she addressed the young looking ambulance man as he escorted his wife to his car and Gordon Barlow raised his hat in the air as he was already carrying it in his hand and stepped back a little from Laura. He appeared rather shy and taken aback, that the Vicar’s wife should even notice him; a surprise not shared by his wife. His six foot stature and strong physique had nothing to do with the ploy… or the fact that he was tanned … blue eyed and had sun-bleached hair. Gordon was a real man, according to Laura … Life took on a certain amount of reason and purpose for her again as her stifled adrenaline flowed copiously, after it had been anaesthetized for so long, but the swarthy gentleman’s wife viewed Laura from below her eyelids. She was one of the few ladies who was not edified by the vicar’s wife… She held her in silent disdain. Were it not for the obvious charms of the Reverend Lockton, many of the ladies of the Parish would have come to the same conclusion about Laura, but Stephen ran a typically happy, carefree, devoted Parish. The ladies loved him and the men accepted him ... but Laura was beginning to despise him. Gordon glanced back at Laura as he closed the car door with his wife inside and as he drove away with Laura still smiling, Gordon Barlow looked dreamily into his mirror as he manoeuvred his gears.
“Be careful darling,” his wife remarked, “You’re looking somewhat flushed. I hope you haven’t picked up a germ or anything like that ...” she snapped the words from between her teeth and Gordon looked back to the road with a cynical smile.
***
The sun was shining as Laura returned to the Manse and she smoothed her under slip close to her thighs as she hummed happily to herself, casting her anxious eye over what she would wear from her wardrobe.
“Hello, darling, getting the thing together, are we?” she called out to Stephen, but his only reply was to frown. Laura was so obvious to everyone but herself, and particularly to her husband. She only ever called him ‘darling’ when there was another darling in the wings She darted downstairs after she had changed and her attitude to Stephen was pleasant as she danced around the lounge. Here eyes were bright and her fresh make-up gave her the assurance she had to have.
“Why don’t you go to see Fern, darling?” she pleaded; her lips pouting, as she went into the kitchen, but Stephen was not sure if this was a sincere invitation or a sarcastic reference to his apparent negligence in going to see the boy in hospital.
“I’m rather busy at the moment, dear ... rather busy, but I will go, I will, I promise,” he replied, but this had been his answer for the past two weeks as he was loathe to admit his true reasons and did not even want to consider it for a moment. He sighed again and his thoughts lived in his whisper “My God ... Fern ... You are the image of your lovely mother…”
At that moment, Laura popped her head into the room from the kitchen.
“What was that you said, dear?” she called out and Stephen stammered his excuse.
“Nothing, Dear nothing at all ... Just thinking my sermon aloud, that’s all.” Stephen knew his limitations. He knew where he stood as far as Laura was concerned, and above all, he knew he was a lonely man ... a very lonely man. All his teachings about God and his love and never having to be alone when God was in your heart, only applied to his parishioners, but Stephen Lockton stood alone, outside of his flock and begged God for the crumbs from the table of plenty. He indulged Laura in her extrovert capricious nature because he did not want her to leave him. Also because he enjoyed a perverted sense of pride that she was his wife. Laura was happy again and Stephen was as content as he ever would be. The world continued to resolve and Laura sung her way around the kitchen. Who knows what tomorrow might bring ... she thought wildly as she studied her eyebrows in the mirror, s
traightening them with a dab of saliva from her crimson lips.
Stephen stood near Fern’s bed; hat in hand and with a schoolboy shyness that portrayed his timidity.
“Hello, Fern,” he said at length and Fern stirred in his sleep, turning towards the voice that had aroused him.
“Why, Stephen, it’s nice to see you. I hope you are well,” he said, but Stephen was embarrassed by the selfless solicitude.
“Thank you, I am well. ... I am well,” he repeated nervously ...”and how are you?”
“I am improving rapidly, thank you. The doctors say I may be able to leave hospital soon, maybe in the next few weeks.”
“That’s good” answered Stephen, still twisting his hat in his hand, but his furtive movements betrayed his nervousness as he continued to speak about anything that came into his head. The tension was building and the two men were at a loss for words.
“I know you have a home now with the Mahon’s and I also know that you are happy with them, but if ever you feel you would like to come back home with us, and ...” but the words had hardly been uttered by Stephen when Fern interrupted.
“Thank you, but no Stephen,” he replied firmly and the vicar stammered apologetically.
“No, of course you wouldn’t, I understand, yes I understand.”
Stephen wanted to look away, but the memory of the wife he had lost; the beautiful mother of the boy before him, flashed into his mind every time Fern looked at him and he wanted to scream out from his stifled heart.
“Don’t look at me like that ... Don’t talk to me the way you do ...”
He had the demeanour and mannerisms of a man much older than his years and his face was creased with sorrow as he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment of peace. He did not tell Fern that Laura was coming to see him soon for he knew it would be the last thing to speak about, even if he accepted the whole dilemma with the timidity that was inherent in him. Perception was not his strongest quality and after a brief conversation with his step-son, he left the fruit that he had brought him and quietly returned home... but Fern was concerned for him. He and Stephen had never been friends, not in any way, and yet, now he felt this terrible desire to run after him and tell him he understood. Friendship was out; love was out, but understanding was a compulsion with him and Fern felt a deeper harrowing sorrow for Stephen than he had ever felt before as he tried to resume his sleep. He thought of what Peter would do in the circumstances and his mind eased as he gently rolled over into sleep, breathing for Stephen; breathing him into comfort and peace, if not into happiness.
