by Paul Kelly
The gathering soon became intense and the hall was so full that some of the guests had to remain in the patio. Fern looked radiant as the evening wore on, but Peter was sad and the more he looked at Fern, the sadder he became. Tom and Rose made the boy sit down for most of the evening, but at one moment, after much persuasion, they allowed themselves to be coerced into letting him sing and they were both concerned as Fern stood on the little stage and the lights were lowered, but they need not have worried. Fern sang as richly and as beautifully as he had always done. His illness was not apparent… nor did it deflect from his voice in any way as the pure strains filled the small hall with power and delicacy. He did not take his eyes from Peter as he sang his own personal farewell and the young cleric stood alone accepting the message that was being sung to him as he tried to conceal the sentiments of his heart. The others appreciated the singing and to each of them it was just another rendition of a beautiful love song but to Peter, it might just have well been his Requiem... and Fern’s eyes glistened as he sang.
‘Goodbye my love, the time has come,
For you to say Farewell tae me.
Ye leave me now in this fair land,
Where once we met so tenderly,
I bless the days we were together,
I know this parting is forever.
Remember me when ye recall,
The hills of Caledonia.
My dearest heart, we always knew,
Before I held ye close tae me,
That stolen moment in your arms,
Must end in tears of destiny.
So fare ye well my gentle lover,
I ken your promised tae ANOTHER,
We’ll meet again in dreams, my love ...
In dreams of Caledonia.
As Fern repeated the last line of the song, Tom was watching the priest with curiosity. He looked from Peter to Fern and back again, but his look was keen and concerned and his heart understood begrudgingly.
“What is it Tom? What’s the matter?”
Rose touched her husband’s arm and her face was full of loving concern but Tom Mahon could not take his eyes from Fern as he answered.
“It’s nothing, love, just that feeling that you get from time to time.
Like someone has just walked across your grave,” he said and his face bore a solemn look as Rose stood back in consternation.
“I wouldn’t say that was nothing,” she replied as Tom returned to his thoughts of the evening.
“It is,” he said, “When you call me by my Christian name,” and she laughed as she led him onto the floor to greet Fern and the understanding Miss Harrison spoke to Peter as she passed him standing alone by the window.
“God bless you Father and give you a safe journey,” she said quietly, but Peter did not hear her words. His eyes did not leave the singer.
The lyrics were lovely and with meaning, but Peter’s love was for the singer and not for the song as he left the room and walked out into the garden. He was afraid to speak to Fern; afraid that his feelings would show the humanity of his heart. He was a priest and he should always be aware of that. He had made his vow to God. He was dedicated to the gospels... and he consoled himself in that way as he walked alone into the garden, away from the crowd, with thoughts that were not of Rome, but of the tiny village that he was leaving behind. The majesty of Rome was nothing in comparison to the beauty and simplicity of Bolarne and he wished with all his heart that he could stay. He wished ... but his thoughts were a contradiction ... for he wished this night of pain would never end and his befuddled thoughts were interrupted as someone spoke.
“Peter.”
The young priest could hear Fern’s voice…He did not look round but bit his lip and looked up at the clear sky.
“Peter, can I stay with you for a little while please?”
Peter still did not move as Fern came to him and touched his hand.
There was a tense silence between them; each unknowing of the other’s thoughts, and yet... the understanding was complete. Peter turned around and stood face to face with the boy and he knew that words would not come to him, but his thoughts tantalized him.
I WISH I HAD NEVER MET YOU, FERNANDO ZAMBRANO,
The words from the depth of his being screamed out from his heart and the coolness of the night air had no effect on the warmth of their feelings as they stood together in sadness and in silence under a cool starry sky.
“I wish you didn’t have to go Father,” Fern spoke with a respect that needed no confirmation of the priest’s title, but again, Peter was silent. His mouth began to quiver. “I wish I could come with you then,” Fern went on … Peter wanted to look away from the face that he saw before him; a face aglow with hurtful pain. The boy’s lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears as Peter stood motionless beside him and his own eyes ached.
“Hush your mouth boy... Hush your mouth,” he said in cracked voice as he took Fern in his arms and pressed him close. Their tears were mingled as their cheeks touched. The bitter tears of Destiny…
Peter wanted to tell Fern of all the feelings that were his at that moment but again, no words would come; no words would suffice ... and the boy choked back his tears as a vision of his return to the hospital seemed so bleak in comparison to the way he was standing then. His shoe buckles glinted in the moonlight and his dagger peeped out from the top of his hose below his knee; its crown of amethyst announcing it’s royal bearing whilst bewailing the prince’s kilt pin which was still missing... His sporran sat neatly at his loins and his completely regal bearing shone bright in comparison to the black sombre cassock, which shrouded his humble friend. They stood alone in the moonlight, afraid of the weakness, but more of the strength of their love for each other…
“Good-bye, Peter.” A tear rolled slowly down the boy’s face as he spoke ... A diamond had fallen from his eye. “I love you Father Spinelli,” he whispered.
***
Fern ran as he had never run before. His lungs hurt but he could not stop. He wanted to get to the waterfall regardless of the hour, regardless of his state ... and his health would not deter him. He had to go to receive the solace of the giant whom he loved, and who would understand his plight, where humans did not have the competence. His face smarted with the tears of his sorrow of that evening. He would have remained with Peter, but he was conscious of what that might have meant and he was afraid of the consequences. How could you tell another man ... a priest, a priest of God, that you wanted to stay with him forever and his face became hot with the shame of his thoughts, as he reached the waterfall and fell to his knees …
“Oh! God, what am I doing; what am I saying. I must be mad. How could I ever feel as I do?” he screamed into the air as he touched his lips with his fingertips. Those same lips that only a few moments before had pleaded for the love of a priest. His heart ached with pain and his whole body longed for the tenderness of love.
The giant roared as ever, screaming with rage and fury at his young friend, for jealousy is a commodity not only reserved for humans and he sprayed the young boy with tumultuous attributes of his power and climaxed in a crescendo of deafening affection.
“GO HOME... GO HOME” He seemed to scream, “DON’T HURT ME WITH YOUR SORROWS. DO NOT RESTRAIN ME WITH YOUR FEARS. I AM FREE ... I MUST ALWAYS BE FREE.”
Fern looked deep into the spray as it overtook him.
“What a fool I am,” he cried sadly and his eyes ached., “What a bloody fool. There is no furtherance to this love... and yet ...”
He raised his arms in the air as though in prayer, as he thought of his priest friend and heard again, his every word. He loved to hear Peter speaking, but Peter could also listen with his beautiful eyes and understand everything.
“How can I tell him that my heart aches to be loved by him; that when I talk to him I
get so much happiness … That I want to embrace him and hold him close to love him... How can I feel so natural when I love him as I do, for to say otherwise would be to lie... and to lie before God, before Peter’s God and mine … Surely if God is infallible and cannot err, then my love must be true, for He has given me this love… It cannot be a mistake... I cannot … I WILL NOT DENY IT.”
Fern rose to his feet and accepted the full baptism of the giant’s fury, as he cried in his desolation and screamed angrily at the God who had mocked him so mercilessly.
“You are his God and my God,” he screamed at the top of his voice and his protests echoed above the jubilation of his magnificent friend as he lowered his head and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Why can’t we be together?” he pleaded as he sobbed pitifully. “Why can’t I love him as I crave to do? You have taken my father and my mother and all the love they had to give me and now You give me this new love to mock and crucify me, just so that You can take it back again.” Fern raised his hand and the spray compelled him to close his eyes.
“Why don’t You just take me and let me die? If I can’t live with him, I don’t want to live without him. Take me now; take everything You want.”
Fern began to rip off his shirt and jacket and threw them down before him. He pulled off his shoes and socks and his sgian dubh clanked as it slid from rock to rock into the foamy labyrinth at his feet. His sporran dropped away from him like a stone and he stood with his kilt alone to cover him as he cried hysterically. Slowly he unbuckled the top of his kilt and it fell to his ankles leaving him standing naked in the haze of the spray that showered him.
“Look at me, God,” he jeered satirically, “Look at me as You made me.
I am not ashamed, Look at me . . .” he bellowed. “I am not ashamed ... I am not ashamed.” he screamed aloud as he fell again to his knees.
He coughed and his body convulsed, throwing him forward and as he fell, his face slid into the deep slimy moss before him. It reddened slowly with the froth from his mouth and his face grew pale against the crimson blanket that held his young head in possessive bondage.
Chapter Forty Two
ROSE SMILED HAPPILY as she thought back over the happy events of the previous evening and how well Fern had looked after his spell in hospital.
“Think the lad enjoyed himself last night ...Didn’t he Mahon?” she said as she prepared the vegetables for dinner, but her husband had his mind on other things.
“Don’t know what happened to him later on though, do we,” he added, “I think he must have gone for a midnight stroll with that priest fellow... or a drive in his car perhaps.”
“Oh! Mahon ... It’s only natural that they’d want some time together away from the crowd.” Rose defended her hero, “They’ve become the best of friends, you know ... and they won’t see each other for quite a long time when the priest goes away.”
“That’s alright then, but I hope he got home O.K. I didn’t hear or see anything of him after he left the party, did you?” asked Tom Mahon and his wife shook her head slowly as she carried on with her chores, but Jonty whimpered and thrust his wet nose into Tom’s hand.
“Aha! I see you are better now lad. Your snout is moist again,” he said, but the dog continued his action, whimpering louder.
“What’s the matter, boy?”
The animal wagged his short tail furiously and stood on his hind legs. His eyes were alert and demanding as Rose looked on with concern.
“You’re missing Fern, aren’t you boy,” she said softly, “Go on then, run upstairs and wake him,” she continued, but Jonty did not respond.
Instead, he kept pushing his wrinkled face into Tom’s hand, simpering as he stood up again on his hind legs and thrusting his front paws into Tom’s stomach.
“Hey, there boy, that was sore. I don’t think you realise the strength of your claws.”
Tom rubbed his stomach but Jonty tottered around the room and repeated his exercise again.
“What is the matter, boy?” Rose admonished her pet in her sternest tone, but Jonty continued to bark, throwing himself in frenzied circles into the air.
“Something is wrong Mahon. Perhaps ... perhaps Fern went back to the hospital last night. I thought he was to come here for the whole weekend ... didn’t you?” she enquired, but Mahon did not answer and Rose telephoned he hospital with negative results, where they confirmed that he was to stay at the cottage until the following Monday when an ambulance would be sent to collect him and bring him back to the hospital.
“Something must be wrong,” she said again and looked slowly towards the ceiling as she spoke and her eyes became fearful with a foreboding danger as she rushed up the stairs to Fern’s room.
“Mahon ... Mahon ... Tom... He’s not here. His bed has not been slept in all night,” she called out and her husband raced up the stairs after her, tripping over Jonty who got under his feet. The dog’s tongue lapped in the air and his breathing was fast and excitable, coming in heavy spasms of panting as he wavered between the room and the stairs, but Tom Mahon knew the habits of the animal well. He knew his quaint way of behaviour when he wanted to be the centre of attraction, but this was different. There was urgency in the dog’s movements that compelled Tom to follow him as he sped down the stairs and out of the house and clawed feet scattered the rugs as they went.
“Tom ...Tom, take your coat; it’s freezing outside.”
Tom was forgetful that he was wearing only his shirt and trousers and stopped sharply to grab the coat his wife handed to him as Jonty jumped impatiently into the air and barked ferociously. Tom allowed him to lead.
“Go boy ...go,” he shouted his command and followed the dog wherever he took him.
The tracks through the fields and up to the woods confirmed Tom’s worst fears as Jonty headed for the waterfall and he became obsessed with his presentiment of impending disaster. The dog ran on ahead, whining and barking with his short stump of a tail erect and Tom’s steps felt heavier as he ran and his breath came in short spurts but he could not stop. He would not stop. He had to get to Fern at all costs, wherever he was…
The sound of the waterfall came nearer as they approached and Tom was on the point of exhaustion when he spotted him. The boy lay naked on the cold harsh earth and Mahon gasped in horror as he rushed to his side.
Jonty pranced around Fern’s nude body as he lay there and licked the boy’s thighs in his humble effort to warm him, yelping at Tom before returning his attentions again to the colourless form lying still on the cold, hard earth in front of him. Tom was struggling desperately to remove his coat but the sharp biting wind hindered his effort, before he was able to cover the boy and give him his own body warmth from the garment.
He felt for a pulse but it was some time before he could get any sign of life as he stared at the bluish ivory body of his beloved pupil. He rubbed Fern’s hands vigorously, calling his name as he did so, but there was no response.
“Jonty ... Come here boy.”
The dog blinked at Tom as he called his name, cocking its head to one side, but Tom hesitated as he stared at Jonty and the dog stared back at him; his tail wagging in expectancy, but what else was there to do, Mahon thought, biting his lip, ashamed of his feeble uncertainty. He felt so helpless ... so incapable of any original thought or idea in this moment of crisis. He should have been able to deal with any emergency, surely ... after all, was he not the esteemed choirmaster of the village church of Bolarne and wasn’t that an office of responsibility where decisions had to be taken daily ... important decisions, decisions dealing in ... well not exactly life or death, but important, nevertheless. He had always prided himself in his office of authority; the office to which he had aspired through years of hard work and perseverance. Yes, he had worked hard to get where he was now, he reflected and bit his lip again. He had been most conscientious and devoted
and ... how then was it possible for him to be so feeble in his determination now that Fern’s life was in danger? How could he even think to attempt to carry him down the mountainside ... and if he dragged him ... he knew that would be an impossible and useless task as he sat back in the snow and rubbed his hands together.
For the first time in his life Tom Mahon felt like a nonentity and he knew that all his pomp and authority was simply a sham, as he looked about him at the cold earth that crackled beneath his feet. He blinked and a snowflake fell from his eyelash. His power was all tinsel and had no substance ... a screen to cover the inadequacy of the authority he longed to have, but which he now knew in his heart, had always been lacking. He longed to instigate some idea of rescue for his friend, but the wind howled around him and the snow was beginning to settle on the ground. It blew about him, jeering at his hesitancy and a tear came to his eye; a warm tear to melt the white dew that had spread across his face. Tom Mahon wanted to prove himself the hero that he should have been. However, on this occasion, fear overtook him and he thrust his hands up to his face to blot out the scene that tormented his mind. He hoped to erase the vision that he now saw of himself and he was paralysed with fear; rooted to the spot where he stood and could do nothing, but Jonty barked and rubbed himself against Tom’s leg, awakening him from the trance that had overcome him in his desolation.
