Giles had begun to look forward to seeing them. They usually came in at fairly quiet times – early to mid-afternoon – and their presence became like that of other regulars, like a visit from a favourite old uncle or cousin. They made the place their home, and that made it a home-away for others just with the feel of it.
Giles watched them chatting away. He thought he might offer them an extra pint later on – on the house. Why would you not? He liked their chit-chat, and they were always kind and friendly with anyone coming within their small tableau, and they enjoyed a joke as much as any, never taking offence at even the most raucous of the typical displays of an English pub.
The mother doesn’t quite understand what it is that she can see.
No, but she doesn’t need to especially. Words aren’t everything. She’s very connected, most devout.
But surely understanding…
Yes, of course it helps. Your move. Focus on one thing at a time.
The younger moved his bishop from harm’s way.
There. Well the Earth keeps turning just the same.
Aye. And so do the Angels look still for those who would speak with them.
And what do they find indeed?
Mostly just those newly arrived, who stare past their mothers’ eyes and over their shoulders, attracted by the beauty lingering above, which waits to provide its special protection. But after a while, these little ones usually forgot how to see Angels.
…which I find so disappointing, don’t you? As I feel sorry for God when I hear someone say they don’t believe in Him.
Infants hear more and more the voices of the World, and although these are not so soft as Angels’ voices, they listen anyway because there is magic in the World as well, and it lures and it captivates and it steals souls.
The older man responded with a more aggressive move towards his friend’s queen.
And so all through a single life there is nothing but this moving away? Such a waste.
So many temptations exist to tantalise the eyes of the heart instead of the window of the soul.
Others find their way back.
The older man raised his head to eye his companion and see what nervousness might exist in his face, but he could see that the younger man did not recognise his plan for the board that lay between them.
Some think they have avoided or escaped the clutches of worldly traps, but sadly most of them are deluded.
I have seen many pretend, for their own purposes, that they commune with Angels, but of these I have never known a one that has heard, seen, or even felt me such that they answered in kind.
Your energy is not strong. There are a small few who do see. As with the boys, they don’t know that this is not the conventional way of the World. These souls are the most blessed, for they understand the meanings of things and the intentions of God and the power of the Word. But they are not people to take or make any advantage of this sight, and many are as empty of the world as one of these boys.
To ordinary folk, a Thomas is as hidden to them as God and the Concourse on high.
If they had any thought to such folk, it is mostly that they are strange, and perhaps even dangerous, and certainly not understood. Play.
You make your light brighter than me. How do you do that?
I have less thought. And I trust more. You know this.
Instinct.
No, not instinct. But natural.
I sometimes find I have to force the natural.
A contradiction.
Yes.
We are not speaking of the light of the Sun, although even that you may bend to your will. That light comes from gas spat out into the Universe and takes just minutes to reach Earth. The light the boys wait for is the light that is the space between all things, and the substance of most things, that carries the messages of the Universe, and gives the World unseen instructions. It doesn’t have to travel anywhere; it’s all around all the time. Don’t force. Check.
Drat! I should have seen that. When I don’t concentrate, I’m duller.
Then let it be so. It will come brighter in time. Let go. It’s what we are encouraging in them, expecting in them, except for your game: that you need to focus on more.
They have no training.
It’s better that way. Their approach is wholly natural.
But they can’t connect with the world.
They don’t need to, at least not as you’d think. Which is to say again, don’t think. Feel. Sense.
It just amuses them. Your contact. They laugh at it.
It is happiness that will help them find their way – Joy. It’s love in movement.
It seems indulgence only.
When was love indulgence?
Then love is light; light is love.
Every object visible to man emits a stream of particles that meet the eye. Pythagoras put this idea into words first; that light consists of rays, which act like feelers, travelling in straight lines from eye to object. People see a thing when those rays touch it. Not many people know that they can also touch light; nor do they know the finer points of light lines, as they impart their true essence, which is love. Pythagoras was a mathematician, but our young companions would find in him not only a friend of the light but also someone who understands that earthly domains are a mirage for the undiscerning..
He’s very sweet, the younger one.
And he wants to talk with us. He knows.
How can you tell?
He has more joy than the other.
Such a burden for them to have to live in two worlds – the one their parents are in, and their own one, inside their own heads. You think we can reach this one?
He can certainly avert great disaster. Perhaps even that of his brother in time.
No one would believe so.
Oh, some would. Some would like to. Checkmate.
‘Och, I see I’ve come at the right time, then!’ Giles set a pint in front of each man.
‘Giles, you shall be a Saint. I shall make sure of it personally.’
‘No need, sir. Just doin’ my job. That’s on the house ‘n’ all.’
The two men grinned and raised their glasses to their host.
‘Cheers!’ they beamed at him and the light coming in through the windows at the front of the pub seemed to shine brighter.
4
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate; our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
Marianne Williamson (1952–)
Signs along the Brayford Wharf warn tourists and picnickers of the dangers inflicted on Cygnus olor from a diet of chips and stale bread.
Timmy walked between his parents, occasionally holding one of their hands and then the other as the Watson family walked along the path at the edge of the lake, the stunning new glass-fronted main block of Lincoln University on the very edge of the pool opposite..
It was early spring and it was cold, but since there was sunshine and this was England, a great many people were out inspecting cafes, houseboats along the canal, or just strolling.
What Alicia wanted more though was to be in her office across the lake. She craved the isolation it offered. Ironically, when it came, it was also often unwelcome. She would find she had less to do than she thought and her life would sometimes seem singularly uncreative. She’d long for the company of her husband and children even though she knew she’d feel immediately irritated again the second she walked through the door of her home..
Now at least they were outside and she had bargained with Pete for work time after the trip to the pond, despite the weekend.
Timmy stared this way and that at nothing in particular. Occasionally he looked into the corner of his eyes, so far that it would hurt most people to do it for long. But Timmy could hold this look for several minutes.
‘Mummy, there they are. Look.’
Jillie had seen the enormous white swans. Some swam on the Pool. Some sat or stood on the bank.
‘Don’t ru
n, darling. You might scare them away. Just go slowly. And don’t get too close.’
‘Look, Timmy, look! The swans! Look!’ Jillie put her hand to Tim’s shoulder and pointed with her other.
Timmy’s eyes followed her line to the large birds several metres off the path. His parents stopped walking and watched his face waiting for some response. His eyes stayed fixed on the birds. For a while they all stood still: Tim looking at the Swans and his parents and sister looking at him. Tim pulled his hands away from his parents, took a few steps forward and jumped a couple of times on the spot, still looking at the birds. He shook his head from side to side and waved both hands vigorously, his elbows bent at his sides. He turned his head away and looked at the swans from the very corner of his eye. After a moment he looked back at them, lifted one hand and a pointed finger up a little, and blew a ‘wi’ sound several times.
He kept his attention on the birds and his parents kept their attention on him, unconsciously linking hands with each other.
Tim smiled at Alicia. ‘What do you think?’
‘Dunno,’ Alicia wondered, her eyes squinting just a little as she studied her son.
‘Wa’,’ Timmy said.
He moved a few more steps towards the birds..
‘Do you think that means swan?’ Pete hoped aloud.
‘Might be wishful thinking, darling.’ Alicia leant towards Pete and whispered, ‘I don’t want him to get too close.’
‘He’s fine, he’s fine. Just… wait…’ Pete whispered, curious at what he hoped may be some recognition.
‘What’s he doing?’ Jillie picked up on her father’s tone.
‘I don’t know, sweetie. Let’s be very quiet and see what happens.’
Tim smiled, looking at two large birds several metres away which seemed to be watching this small group of people watching them. He walked and half skipped towards them.
‘Okay, that’s close enough,’ said Alicia.
‘No, wait.’ Pete grabbed Alicia’s arm to hold her back. ‘Look, he’s not scared. This is amazing. He’s always scared of animals.’
‘Jesus, Pete. Look at the size of those beaks. What if they peck him?’
‘Actually, they’re more likely to break his back with one of their wings.’
‘Okay, that’s it.’ Alicia pulled away.
Pete grabbed her again. ‘Look, just trust me. He’s fine. They’re not going to hurt him. He’s no threat to them.’
‘I was more thinking about their threat to him actually.’
‘Shh! watch.’ Pete was mesmerised by his son’s approach to the swans.
‘He’s fine, Mummy. Look, he’s gonna make friends with them.’
Alicia did a half eye roll.
Timmy skipped up to one of the swans, which raised itself on to its feet. The little boy looked to the bird’s dark red-brown eyes as it turned towards him and eyed him closely. Only a few inches from the bird, Tim giggled and the bird cocked its head very slightly. Tim’s head angled a little too, but he couldn’t find the straight lines he liked most, and he straightened his neck again. The bird’s long neck curled down very slowly, and an orange beak touched Tim’s chest in an almost imperceptible pecking motion. Tim’s eyes followed the bird’s head – a little giggle, another small peck. The long white neck curled back up again and the two eyed each other a while longer. Then the giant bird turned its head to the lake and sat down, seemingly satisfied that no threat arose here.
Jillie Watson saw the air around her brother and the bird turn pale white. It didn’t seem like anything you’d mention so she didn’t, and besides she’d seen it many times before about her brother. It was one of the special things she liked about him.
‘Look, darling,’ said Pete, ‘doesn’t it look like he’s just found a new friend?’
Alicia’s look at her husband suggested recognition of the Missing Link. ‘No?’
Tim plonked himself on his bottom immediately beside the great bird, the animal’s head nearly a metre above his own. He blinked up at it, the light from the sun almost directly in his eyes.
His parents heard him laugh quietly again and saw him smile.
‘I’m enjoying this. This is amazing,’ said Pete.
Alicia was less enthralled. ‘This is a dumb idea.’
‘He’s perfectly content. What a sight.’
‘I’ve never seen him do this before.’ She was resigned.
The bird lowered its beak for another quiet peck, this time at Tim’s head. The little boy raised his hand and laughed anew. Then the giant Swan came up on to its feet again, waddled gently to the water’s edge, and took a graceful stepping launch into the water, gliding quietly away. Tim watched.
Jillie wandered over to her brother, sat down beside him, and shared his pleasure at the sight of the gliding bird. She briefly checked out the top of his head, but apparently found nothing. Tim grabbed at her hand and laughed again. Their parents joined them and sat down, quietly examining their child in the light of an apparent minor miracle.
‘Swa’,’ Timmy said, raising a finger in the direction of the just-departed bird.
‘Can’t mistake that,’ Pete said to no one in particular.
‘All right, you’ve convinced me, although I’m not sure of what. What is it about the Swans, do you think?’
‘What is it about Timmy, you might ask?’
‘Well, yes, I guess so.’
‘What d’ya think the Swan said to Timmy, Daddy?’
‘Well, I don’t think it said anything exactly, darling, but it did seem to like him, didn’t it? Actually these swans don’t talk – I mean they don’t talk swan talk. They’re Mute Swans. They don’t make normal swan sounds.’
‘That’s a bit like Timmy, isn’t it? He doesn’t make normal sounds either. Maybe that’s why they were talking.’
‘Maybe.’
Tim smiled a big dimply smile and looked sharply to the corner of his eye.
‘I’d like to have a nosy up at the cathedral, so how about you pick us up from there in an hour or so?’
‘Yay!’ Jillie interrupted. ‘Can I come? I like it there.’
‘Okay, that’ll work,’ said Alicia.
The Watsons packed picnic remains into their car. Timmy continued to utter the odd Wa’ or Swa’ to general amazement and all-round delight.
Alicia took Orchard Street past the City of Lincoln Council, behind the wharf and the narrow winding streets to Drury Lane and the castle and cathedral on the hill. The cathedral presented one of the finest sights in England, sitting atop the hill and old town of Lincoln, and could be seen for miles around. It had an extraordinary architectural history being built and rebuilt, in part or in whole, several times.
Turning past the tourist centre into Castle Square, a short way from the Cathedral, Alicia pulled over by The Magna Carta pub.
‘And don’t even think about getting stuck in there!’ Alicia smiled at her husband.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Pete leant over and kissed his wife. ‘See you back here at three?’
‘Sure. Have fun.’
‘Okay, you two, let’s pile out then.’ Pete climbed out and opened the back door for his children. ‘Timmy, did you undo your seat belt?’
‘It’s all right, Dad, he just undid it just then.’
‘Okay, good. C’mon then. Bye, hun.’ Pete and Jillie waved to Alicia as she turned back around to go back down the way she’d come.
‘Can we go down the steep street, Daddy?’ Jillie pointed down Steep Hill, the cobbled, handrailed lane leading down the hill.
‘Maybe later, sweetie. It’s pretty hard work getting up again.’
‘You won’t have to carry me.’
‘I think I heard you say that last time, and I think I did carry you some of the way, and Timmy. Let’s go see the Cathedral and we’ll see about it after, shall we?’
‘Okay, let’s go.’ Jillie took her father’s hand as they turned right at the corner of the pub and under the medieval archwa
y of the cathedral’s Exchequer Gate.
Pete never ceased to be in awe of the incredible facades of the Cathedral, no matter from which angle he approached it. The extent of the stonework was something to marvel, in the sheer size of single stones, but mostly in the height of the whole structure. The cathedral had been the tallest building in the world until the sixteenth century when its spires collapsed. Up close, both inside and out, the stones told a story to the touch – warm or cold, some more smooth, some older, some newer – and in their detailed work. There were thousands of stories within and without he knew. Each stone told a tale.
Pete headed to the South Door in the West Front of the cathedral, a child holding each hand. The stone threshold was worn into a smooth concave. Jillie skipped inside the small foyer, and they turned left into the main cathedral.
‘See this bit of wall, Jillie?’ Pete indicated the outside wall. ‘It’s nearly a thousand years old. It’s a part of the original cathedral. There was a big earthquake hundreds of years ago and most of it fell down.’
‘Is it going to fall down now?’
‘No, darling, it’s not.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, it’s a lot stronger now than it was then.’
‘What if there’s another earthquake?’
Pete regretted this particular attempt at a history lesson. ‘I’m sure it won’t happen today, sweetie. See this?’ He indicated a clear change in the stonework, where two different types of stone met, one a little darker in colour than the other. ‘See, this is where new stones were put on top of old ones when they were rebuilding the cathedral.’ The story the diagonal change told never ceased to overwhelm Pete, as he imagined stonemasons smoothing the old to make way for a well-fitting new. The craftsmanship he knew was little known now, and that medieval understanding of the weights and balances and engineering could rival much of contemporary expertise.
Angels in the Architecture Page 5
