‘Yes, yes, yes. Well, I do think this is quite exciting news. I don’t know if you’ve ever considered ordination, either of you – apparently, it’s not something we’ve discussed at this table (somewhat surprisingly). But it’s long overdue, and I have to say, there’s no two churchwomen would make finer members of the priesthood than you both. In fact, I clearly see a Bishopric looming in your futures somewhere.’
‘Now, Maitland, the future’s my party trick, and anyway that seems just too far-fetched,’ Loraine responded.
‘A toast, my dears.’ Maitland raised his glass and others took to their feet also. ‘To Rose and Loraine, the future of our beloved Faith, and what I’m sure will be a marvellous career for both of you.’
‘Rose and Loraine.’ Everyone chimed in.
When they had all sat down again, Rose said, ‘It’s probably going to be quite a while yet, you know. The Synod’s said it’s possible, but individual Bishops can make their own decisions about this.’
‘Oh, Phipps’ll be up for it, don’t you worry,’ said Maitland.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. But we’ll see… Anyway. Pete, I thought your lovely Alicia was going to come with you this evening. We’ve all been looking forward to hearing about her science.’
‘You’re changing the subject, my dear,’ Maitland countered.
‘Well, it’s just that we’re not here to talk about that, and I don’t know that either of us has ever really got our own heads round the very real prospect now of ordination,’ replied Rose.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, honestly.’
‘Actually, I guess I always assumed too, that you’d be in favour of ordination if it came along,’ Sally piped up.
‘Really?’ Loraine responded.
Murmurs and nods of agreement went round the table in the obvious expectation of more response from the two deaconesses.
Rose and Loraine both grinned and shrugged shoulders from opposite ends of the table.
‘Well, of course, we support the idea of women in the Church, and indeed ordination,’ said Rose. ‘And, of course, we’ll consider it. But I think we’ve been content for things to unfold as they will, and I guess we’ll take that step in good time. Probably.’
‘How can you be so relaxed about it?’ said Sally.
‘Why not?’ Rose replied.
‘I just assumed you’d be more, you know, radical about this.’
‘We are.’
‘Well, you don’t seem very hot under the collar to me. That would be the collar you don’t have of course,’ added Maitland.
‘Does one have to be angry and radical at the same time?’ asked Loraine.
‘Usually.’
‘Hmm. Well, I choose not to be, if that’s all right. Angry, that is. But still radical.’
Maitland regarded Loraine. Everyone regarded Loraine.
Loraine regarded everyone else and said, ‘Oh, come on! Really! You want me to be radical and angry? No!’ She grinned at her audience. ‘Angry’s just not useful.’
‘This is the Christian Faith we’re a part of,’ Rose added. ‘We’re supposed to be loving, beyond all else.’
‘Turn the other cheek then?’ Maitland said.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then how do you get what you want. I mean, I assume you’ve wanted to see this change. How do you advocate for it?’ Sally asked.
‘Simply that. We advocate. And we pray. And we do well at what we do. And we try to demonstrate that we as women have a part to play in the Church. And I think we do that well,’ responded Rose.
‘But don’t you get angry? Frustrated? That you’ve been denied this particular opportunity?’
‘Where would that get us exactly?’
‘I don’t know. More satisfied?’
‘Absolutely not. It would get us precisely more frustrated!’ Loraine replied.
‘Well, perhaps.’
‘Look,’ said Loraine, ‘things can change in the world without resorting to aggression – the serenity to accept what you cannot change, etcetera, whatever that saying is.’
‘Yes, I know the one, and we all think it’s wonderful, but no one actually does things that way. Not really,’ Maitland said.
‘Oh, Maitland, you’re a cynic!’
‘Absolutely! And proud of it!’
There were laughs and grins for Maitland’s faux pride.
‘If you add anger to a debate, you harm: first, yourself and secondly, the possibility of a positive resolution.’
There’s always a place for good old righteous indignation, my dear,’ responded Maitland.
‘Of course, but you don’t have to add anger. It’s self-destructive. Leave anger out of it and you’ll solve things much more quickly.’
‘But,’ Sally continued, ‘it’s normal to feel angry sometimes at what life’s doled out to you.’
‘Perhaps it is a human reaction, Sally, but it’s our humanity also that allows us to manage our emotions and turn them to good use. And anyway, humanity, which does after all include the Church, develops in its own time, according to the exigencies of the age. We can’t always make these things happen sooner than is possible.’
‘Yes – and no. I can’t agree that we can’t push things along…,’ Sally responded.
‘Of course, we do what we can to push things along, as you say. But you do not quarrel with a rose tree because it cannot sing,’ stated Loraine.
‘Oh, now that’s good. Can I use that?’ asked Pete, smiling.
‘Certainly, but it’s not original,’ replied Loraine.
‘Will whoever said it mind?’
‘I doubt it. He’s dead. ‘Abdu’l-Baha.’
‘Who?’
‘Baha’i faith.’
‘Right. None the wiser.’
‘Anyway, about your wife, and your son. I hope we’ll get to see Alicia sometime. How’s your son going? How are you going?’ Loraine asked Pete.
‘We’re all great. Tim’s making great progress. And I did rather think I might have had Alicia convinced about coming along, but she’s had to get something finished at the University. Nearly didn’t make it myself, but one of Tim’s therapists stayed on. And as for Tim, I’ve decided I’m going to treat him as a fully functioning kid. I think, despite what the so-called experts say, he knows everything that’s going on around him, but for whatever reason he can’t express it – at least not as other kids would. In fact, I think he sees and understands things we don’t.’
‘Like what?’
‘Don’t know – doesn’t matter. My job’s to make sure he has every opportunity to explore his own unique world and participate in ours as a bright and endowed human being.’
‘Well, that sounds like an enormous change. How do you think you’ll go with that?’
‘As I’ve been going, and hopefully with some intuition, and a measure of creativity.’
‘Then that’s wonderful. Just wonderful. What an extraordinary attitude towards it all! For certain your belief alone will have some effect.’
‘Oh, so we’re back on that then?’ Maitland reiterated.
‘But this is your field, isn’t it, Maitland?’ Loraine teased. ‘Faith and belief?’
‘Yes, actually. And you’re absolutely right. And I agree with you too, Pete. Good luck to you, old man.’
Rose weighed in. ‘I read the other day about a man in the United States that they’re making a movie about – he’s autistic, but he has a prodigious memory, can practically memorise whole telephone books. He can read a novel in a few minutes, a few seconds per page. Even this: his left eye will read the left page, and his right eye will read the right page.’
‘That’s bizarre!’ Maitland. ‘How is that possible?’
‘Well, they don’t know it seems. But he grew up “retarded”, as they said then – awful word – and at some point his father discovered he had some extraordinary mathematical ability. And they’re making a movie about him with Dustin Hoffman.’
‘I’ve read about that,’ commented Pete. ‘It’s called savantism – areas of brilliance in otherwise relatively poorly functioning individuals. Many of them are autistic, and they often have some other mental disability as well. And then there are mega-savants, like the fellow you’re talking about. There’s not so many of them.’
‘Hmm.’
Pete had learnt to read momentary silences in the group as some sort of appreciation for the depth of a particular thought or discussion. Sometimes he thought he could just about see people’s dots joining up. The group’s openness to ideas was turning Rose and Loraine’s house into a particular haven for him.
‘Well then,’ Maitland again, ‘we’ll be expecting something amazing from the young man one day. Mathematical ability you say this other chap has?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Interesting. I wonder if most of their abilities centre on those kinds of areas of expertise. I mean to say, the more precise sciences. I wonder if there’s extraordinary artistic ability, for example – things requiring higher levels of creativity and expression. You said it was expression that you think is the challenge for your boy, Pete?’
‘I don’t know for sure. I’m just guessing. Well, maybe not guessing entirely. It’s my own conclusion, from knowing him and observing him. I think he understands more than we’ve thought up till now, and for whatever reason he can’t express what he knows, but if he had the means to, then I think he would have one hell of a lot to say.’
‘There must be research being done on this, Pete.’
‘Undoubtedly. But, you know, it’s not so easy to find these things out. But you’re right. Every now and then one of his therapists mentions something, although mostly it’s education and therapy focused. But I’ll start paying more attention.’
Rose and Loraine’s dining room was a familiar and comfortable space for those present. The content of the conversation varied enormously, and everyone went with the flow of it. It was almost always of interest, and the reasons for different individuals’ attendance and contributions, known or unknown, were accepted. Had anyone ever suggested he would become a regular at a church group meeting, Pete and most people who knew him would have scoffed at the idea, but he’d been coming for some months now and had found it of increasing comfort, interest, and virtually his only source of friendship and socialisation. He – and he assumed others – hadn’t really realised there existed a demographic that was both religious and open, as well as interesting. Was this the religious silent majority? Pete thought it a discovery well made.
Pete drew himself reluctantly from the good company around ten o’clock, resisting Maitland’s gestures towards the pub as well, and heading home. Everyone else remained behind, and he was disappointed to be missing out.
When he got home, he was only partly surprised Alicia was not there yet; he paid the babysitter and stood by the front gate as she walked to her home a few doors up.
‘Night, Mr Watson,’ she called, turning into her own gate.
‘Night, Carly.’ Pete turned back into his own gate and up the verandah steps to the front door.
He peeked into each of his children’s bedrooms, deciding to sit a moment by his sleeping son. Timmy’s room was full of colour; there were posters of animals and a castle and a double-decker bus on his wall. Plastic bins of toys were stacked up, and a bookshelf was untidily filled with books, puzzles, and assorted bits and pieces. His bed was loaded up with cuddly toys, one of which, a faded, floppy, and ragged dog, he had his arm around as he slept.
Pete thought things were going to work out just fine.
Rose dried as Loraine washed up. Their guests had all left, and as usual they refused any cleaning up assistance. All part of the service they liked to offer was their thought.
‘Shame Pete had to leave when he did,’ Rose said, wine glass and tea towel in hand.
‘Yes. I suppose it was quite late already. And he has rather got his hands full, I imagine, despite his assertions of his “normal” son.’
‘Yes. Yes, indeed. He’s quite different now from when he first started coming, don’t you think?’ Rose asked.
‘He does seem more relaxed and more certain about himself; and about his son too. I’m sorry I haven’t got to meet the young man myself,’ replied Loraine.
‘Oh, well, plenty of time.’
‘Interesting discussion.’
‘Mmm.’
‘What do you think about ordination then?’ Loraine asked.
‘Why would we not?’
‘Thought you’d say something like that. Have we got everything in off the dining table? No more glasses?’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ Rose replied.
‘Good.’ Loraine pulled the plug from the sink. ‘Do you have any idea what Phipps thinks?’
‘No, perhaps we’d better find out.’
‘Perhaps we’d better.’
‘Do you feel you need to?’ Rose asked.
‘Become a priest? No, not necessarily. I don’t need the recognition or the status. And I’m not of the view, in reality, that it puts me any closer to God.’
‘So you wouldn’t do it anyway?’
‘Didn’t say that. I’d need to be clear about my reasons,’ replied Loraine..
‘Career options?’ Rose suggested.
‘Rather simplified, don’t you think? It’s not about a career.’
‘Of course it’s about a career. You’ve chosen a career in the Church,’ Rose stated.
‘I’ve chosen a life in the Church, and I have that,’ replied Loraine.
‘Then how about simply because we can?’
‘Now there’s a good reason!’ Loraine laughed.
Rose laughed too. ‘Well, I’ll make sure I bump into Phipps tomorrow then, shall I?’
‘Good idea. Tea?’
‘Lovely, thank you.’
Alicia turned out of the university on to Brayford Way, heading for the short drive along the A15, before she broke off on to the long Lincoln Road to Nocton. It was two or three in the morning – she wasn’t sure precisely. After a surprising several more rounds with Gerry on the floor and the sofa in her office, he had ventured out to find an off-licence and come back with a bottle of Famous Grouse, a jar of pickles, a large wedge of Stilton, and a box of Carr’s water crackers. She’d thought fish and chips would have gone a treat but hadn’t said so. They’d tucked into their small feast and made a significant attempt at emptying the Grouse.
Alicia had wondered if after marathon sex they’d actually have anything at all to say to each other. They’d talked non-stop for hours, about their work, colleagues, England, America, students, and Lincoln pubs. There’d been no mention of spouses or families, nor any discussion about tomorrow or the next day. Alicia had figured, since she wore a wedding ring, her situation was obvious. Gerry’s wasn’t clear, and she hadn’t asked. She’d assumed he was single. She didn’t much care.
Eventually, she’d had some sense that it was well past any reasonable time at which she ought to be going home. Gerry had walked her down to her car, kissing her passionately in the darkness. It had seemed he would likely accept an invitation to the back seat if she’d let him, but she’d thought anymore and she might not be able to sit down in the car to drive home.
Now taking the on-ramp to the motorway she was leaning forward slightly and forcing her eyes wide open. There was no traffic and it was a clear night. Her mind whirled through the various excuses she’d been thinking she could give Pete depending on whether he woke up when she came in or not. She knew she’d have to have a shower as soon as she got in and that might wake him. If it didn’t, then she figured she could fudge the whole thing more or less. Any other analysis of the evening would have to wait till tomorrow.
God, it is tomorrow!
Alicia wasn’t sure what would happen next with Gerry and she didn’t want to think about it now. She wanted to sleep more than anything else.
16
… there were Angels in
the architecture, spinning in infinity …
Paul Simon, ‘You can call me Al’, from the album ‘Graceland’ (1986)
Giles poured two more short glasses of Laphroaig. The chess players had unexpectedly changed their drink today; it appeared they were celebrating, and their chessboard was absent as well. Giles didn’t mind a Scotch himself now and again, but he’d never stomached this strongest and smokiest of drops. He thought it tasted like floor polish, but these fellows clearly appreciated it; their first hadn’t touched the sides, and they’d sent him off again straight away for another.
‘May I ask what’s your celebration then, gentlemen?’ Giles placed their drams in front of them.
‘We have saved the World, sir,’ the older man declared, and both raised their glasses to Giles, although each just took a sip this time from his glass.
‘Well, that’s good news. Congratulations!’
‘And what better way to celebrate than with your national drink, young man?’
‘Oh aye, it’s no’ so much my national drink, sir. I’m more for a glass a’ milk most often myself.’ Giles’s big frame shook with his jocular laugh. ‘But I’ll be happy to keep those poison swords coming your way though.’
‘You are too kind.’
Giles smiled, tucked his tray under his arm, and turned back to the bar.
So he did it then?
The younger one. Yes. Well, he had set himself a challenge. And he’s had some help of course. But quite remarkable, just the same.
And the father has understood something too.
Yes.
And the future is altered inexorably.
Hopefully.
And the mother?
That’s up to her.
What about the older one? He doesn’t have the same support.
Yes, I know you think that’s what it’s about, but it’s not so simple. We still have a job to do, but those were difficult times.
The Bishop sees.
Perhaps.
And the Mother.
Yes.
Although she’s powerless.
Angels in the Architecture Page 24
