Aelred's Sin

by Lawrence Scott

  Along the side of the silver fuselage, what I could see beneath the wide expanse of wing, were the cane fields like I had never seen them, a patchwork quilt, an English image. Now I knew what they meant, the fields laid out with the hedges in between. These were hedgerows. It was a new language, new feelings. The cuckoo, which had only ever lived in a clock on the cream dining-room wall, I heard one morning after Prime when I walked out on to the terrace and the fields were appearing out of the mist. ‘The cuckoo is a usurper,’ said Father Prior.

  My worlds were inside each other.

  Below the wing, the forests and the mountains were as impenetrable as I had never seen them before. And then we were leaving the land, the edge of the land, the swamp, the islands of mangrove, the sea, the little archipelago of islands between Les Deux Isles and the mainland.

  I touched Ted’s sunburnt shoulder where the sea water fractured like crystals and trickled like mercury down his arms. His sweat tasted like salt on my tongue. When I looked down again the light had changed; through clouds the sea was black. Then all that I loved went out.

  The face that wasn’t Ted’s was covered with powder.

  I, his brother, now taste salt on my tongue.

  The New Novice

  …like a young stag,

  See where he stands behind our wall,

  He looks in at the window, he peers through the lattice.

  Song of Songs

  ‘This is Brother Edward Boswell.’ Father Justin introduced the new novice at recreation in the sunken garden under the arbour covered over with wisteria just beginning to bloom. They had come down the stone steps from the terrace with Brother Benedict. ‘This is Brother Angus, John, Dominic, Charles.’ He went around introducing the group of novices and simple professed monks with the new novice shaking hands. ‘And this is Brother Aelred.’ Aelred had come from late kitchen duty, so stood outside the circle of the novitiate. They also shook hands. ‘Brother Benedict will be Brother Edward’s guardian angel,’ Father Justin said, looking around the group of his novices, smiling. ‘But I hope you’ll all lend a helping hand to show Brother Edward the ropes if you find him lost.’

  Brother Edward smiled and everyone said, ‘hello,’ and ‘welcome’ to the new novice.

  Brother Charles, a young Irish brother with a ruddy face, said earnestly, but nervously, ‘It’s a grand time to join up because of the grand weather’ He pointed to the full summer of the park splendidly lit by the bright afternoon. ‘It’s grand,’ he said, beaming.

  Brother Edward smiled and agreed. ‘I’m lucky to have had good weather for travelling.’ He looked spanking new in a smart black cassock, buttoned right up to his neck. The long leather monastic belt was pulled in tightly at his waist, knotted and allowed to hang down his left side. He was tall with blond hair. He had bright blue eyes and very white skin. He stood out. All the other novices wore varying degrees of tonsure, as their shaven heads were called. The actual circular tonsure, the bald pate, had been dispensed with some years ago, but the fullhaired new novice was strikingly unshorn.

  Brother Angus asked politely about Brother Edward’s journey. They exchanged reminiscences, discovering that they both came from Shropshire. Immediately, they were outdoing each other in praise of the Shropshire hills and boasting to the other novices. ‘I expect you’ve done all the big walks up to the Stiper stones and the Devil’s Chair and over the Burway.’ Father Justin looked on approvingly as Angus obviously made Edward feel at home.

  ‘Oh, yes, and Caer Caradoc and “All around The Wrekin”, as the saying goes.’ Edward turned to the other novices, clearly enjoying an immediate familiarity with Brother Angus. ‘I was walking on the Long Mynd only yesterday.’

  Then the other novices got on with their usual recreation conversations concerning their studies, the farm, gardening or some tid bit of gossip someone had picked up from one of the lay workers in the pottery, being careful that Father Justin did not hear. News from outside the monastery was not encouraged, particularly in the novitiate. Brother Charles was always keen on folk music and had been allowed by the Abbot to play his guitar. So he liked to pick up news of popular music. The lads in the pottery were talking a lot now about Bob Dylan from America. Brother Charles was allowed to bring his guitar to recreation at times and this afternoon he picked away at a new tune. ‘The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind…’ A couple of the other novices joined in, learning the lines of the lyric.

  Brother Dominic suddenly asked, ‘And what about the Beatles?’ Edward was about to answer but picked up his cue from the other novices, who had at that moment turned to Father Justin to see his reaction.

  ‘I think Brother Edward has left all that behind?’ His statement turned on the inflection of a question and was said with a frown and a smile at the same time.

  The novices returned to their usual conversations.

  Aelred tried to get close to Benedict. Their conversation on the walk some days before was still worrying him and he felt that he wanted to put it right, and say something encouraging till they could steal a moment to talk properly. But Benedict was already engaged in his guardian angel duties and was in a huddle with Edward on a stone bench outside the arbour. Aelred felt left out. He had not got into conversation as yet with any of the other novices, because he had been late from the kitchen. Usually what happened on these occasions was that one sat next to Father Justin and made formal conversation. ‘Come and sit here, brother.’ Father Justin indicated a space on the bench next to him. Aelred was not keen to do that today. He had felt a tension growing with Father Justin since their last weekly session, and felt that he was keeping a careful watch on who he mixed with and whether he mixed properly with all the novices equally. This too was something Aelred felt frustrated about, having to make conversation. He never felt that the talk was real.

  So, he declined the offer. ‘I’ll just pass the tea and cake around, and continue my kitchen duties, which I’ve been enjoying.’ He busied himself with pouring out the tea from a large brown enamel teapot and offering around the fruit cake which he had helped make this afternoon, tutored by Brother Felix.

  ‘This is Brother Aelred.’ Benedict introduced Edward. ‘Aelred is from Les Deux Isles in the Antilles.’

  ‘The British West Indies. Oh, how exotic! I remember collecting those wonderful colourful stamps of all kinds with pictures of exciting flora and fauna. And the unusual names like Antigua, Trinidad and Tobago. Those two always went together,’ Edward joked.

  Benedict smiled to encourage the new novice but glanced at Aelred, gauging his response. ‘Exotic? Oh, yes. Would you like some fruit cake which I made. It’s a very beautiful island, Les Deux Isles, but I’ve never thought of it as exotic.’

  ‘A long way away,’ Edward continued, frowning at Aelred. ‘A desert island.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Benedict interjected. ‘Aelred’s been very brave. And it’s a little exotic to us, you know. Remember those sunsets you once told me about.’

  ‘Yes, I could see at once you weren’t English,’ Edward continued.

  ‘Oh!’ Aelred looked at Benedict for explanation and support. Aelred was feeling awkward. It was the new novice, Edward, but it was also that he had not spoken to Benedict since the dies non walk. Aelred passed on, offering cake and tea. The sleeves of his habit were rolled up to his elbows, showing his brown arms recently heightened by the sun from working on the farm and in the garden.

  Father Justin tugged at his sleeves when he got to him with tea, and indicated that he should roll them down. ‘Brother, brother,’ he said playfully but in an admonishing tone.

  ‘Sorry, it was so hot in the kitchen.’ Aelred acted out his complaint. The other novices nearby smiled.

  Then Aelred overheard Edward say to Benedict, ‘He’s very dark,’ looking at Aelred.

  The bustle of out-of-door recreation was soon over when the chimes for Vespers filled the park with its hypnotic music. Then everyone began clearing up and helping to pack up th
e tea things to take them back to the kitchen.

  ‘I wanted to talk,’ Aelred said softly next to Benedict on the path to the terrace when he had stopped talking to Edward for a moment. Edward had moved off to have a word wirh Father Justin. ‘I wanted to say, I’ve been thinking about what you said.’

  ‘Not now,’ Benedict interrupted. ‘Not now.’ Then he resumed talking to Edward and walked on ahead into the cloister.

  Aelred felt desolate. He watched Edward and Benedict conferring with each other and remembered how sweet the feeling was when Benedict had been his guardian angel.

  Under his cloak with his hood on he felt dejected as, in the queue along one side of the cloister, he turned his mind to Vespers. He prayed, ‘Dear God, help me with this. Help me when I feel so alone.’ He snatched at a stalk of lavender from the bush along the cloister and crushed it in his fingers under his scapular. Then he felt Edward behind him. Edward coughed and Aelred could smell the new smell of his cassock. He was now no longer the last in the queue into the choir. He was now no longer the new novice.

  There never seemed to be a moment now for Aelred to speak to Benedict. So much time seemed to be passing since he had confessed his love on the walk. It seemed as if it had not happened. Aelred kept going over the scene along the road when they had dropped behind the other monks and when they sat together near the ponds. He could still see his wet black hair against his white body as he came out of the water. He was full of regret because of what he had said and wanted to put it right. Their eyes met each other in choir and in the refectory, but they did not talk. Each day Aelred looked hopefully at the noticeboard to see whether the cellarer had put him to work with Benedict in the garden or on the farm. He was always being detailed now to work with the new novice Edward, in order to show him the ropes about manual work or the various rituals of the day. Aelred was always bumping into the two of them in the common room, poring over a book of psalms, or going through a ritual like serving in the refectory.

  ‘Oh, brother, benedicite,’ Benedict called, giving the formal opening to conversation as a good example to the new novice. Aelred was coming through the common room on the way to the novitiate cells after housework that morning. He was about to change the flowers before Our Lady’s statue in the novitiate’s corridor shrine. He had adopted this as an additional chore, which he did as the junior member of the novitiate.

  ‘Benedicite,’ Aelred responded formally. ‘Morning, brother.’

  ‘Benedicite, good morning,’ Edward followed the example of Benedict.

  The three brothers smiled and acknowledged the humour which at times monastic rituals, like the custom of ‘bendicite’ before speaking, held for the new monks in particular. They were stumbling over each other with the formal greetings.

  ‘A lot of the time the “Benedicite” greeting was dispensed with “Brother”,’ Benedict continued. They all smiled at the continuing pun on Benedict’s name.

  ‘Yes.’ Aelred was happy to have been invited into conversation.

  ‘I was thinking it might be good for you to give up this duty of changing the flowers for the novitiate’s shrine and let Edward take that over. As you remember, it’s always been the duty of the junior member of the novitiate. Remember you took over from Charles?’

  ‘Oh, yes, fine. I’ve just picked some wild buddleia which grows in the rocks by the quarry. There are already some early blooms. Do you like buddleia?’ Aelred addressed this to Edward, but smiling at Benedict.

  ‘You’ve been all the way to the quarry this morning already?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I love to walk out there for some quick exercise. It’s glorious along the path with the gorse all out and the silver birches which I love. I had to climb the rocks for the buddleia.’

  ‘Don’t go and fall.’

  ‘Do I have to take this duty on? Brother Aelred clearly enjoys this chore. I’m not great at flower arranging.’ Edward smiled at both Benedict and Aelred.

  Did Aelred pick up the very slightest inflection of sarcasm in his tone of voice on flower arranging?

  It was possible that Benedict did. But he carried on showing his concern for Aelred’s safety on the rocks of the quarry, alone out there in the early morning. ‘I don’t think you should go climbing out there at the quarry alone. Anyway, I think it’s best if Edward takes over the flower arranging.’ Benedict emphasised the word ‘arranging’. A new novice needed to begin to learn humility. He was also feeling protective to Aelred.

  ‘Oh, that’s fine. Maybe Aelred could just show me the rudiments, and the best places to pick flowers and where the secateurs are kept.’ Edward spoke precisely.

  Aelred could see Benedict’s face taking on a stern look. He himself felt hurt by Edward’s tone of voice. He was very polished and sounded slightly snobbish, Aelred thought. But he wanted to be good. He wanted to be good for Benedict.

  ‘Certainly, I’ll meet you here after house duties tomorrow morning and then we can visit the garden together. I’ll enjoy that. I’m really enjoying getting to know England. And the coming summer.’

  ‘Maybe you can show me your rock face one day, if that’s OK I’m quite a good rock climber, actually. I was trained on the sheer side of Caer Caradoc. England is more than its flowers, you know. It’s more than a garden.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Benedict said, ‘I’d just keep to the flower beds on the terrace for the moment. But don’t hack away at all Father Kevin’s horticulture. Well, there’s the bell for Prime.’

  Edward left to change for Prime.

  ‘Benedict.’ Aelred carried on speaking, wanting to address their need to talk.

  ‘The bell, brother. Let’s give a good example.’ Benedict could be cold sometimes. Then he turned and said quietly as he raised his hood, ‘I still feel the same. I do what I said. I keep it in my heart for both of us.’

  ‘And I, I …’

  Benedict put his finger against Aelred’s lips as he had done once before. ‘Soon.’

  Aelred went off to his cell feeling hurt and confused. Some of it was to do with Benedict refusing to let him speak, but there was this nagging feeling that he was different. He didn’t like the tone of Edward’s voice. He hadn’t liked the way, now that he put it altogether, that this morning’s conversation and the first meeting at recreation went, when Edward joked about Les Deux Isles being exotic and talking about the stamps of the islands. He had a way of talking down to him, he felt. Then he remembered his remark about how dark he was. Aelred could feel himself being homesick, like he used to get when he had first arrived.

  The following morning before Prime, Aelred got the secateurs from the cupboard in the common room. While he waited for Edward to meet him after housework he picked out the dead flowers from the vase in front of the Lady statue. He did this as he knelt at the prie-dieu in front of the shrine. Hearing footsteps behind him in the corridor he turned, still in his kneeling position, and saw that it was Edward. He got up, making the sign of the cross.

  ‘I’ll just get rid of these,’ Aelred said, depositing the dead flowers in the large hearth of the common room fireplace.

  ‘Benedicite,’ Edward said formally. He had a new work smock, which was crisp and creased where it had been folded in the linen room. Like when he was in his cassock, Edward exuded a smell of newness. Now it was the brand-new denim work smock.

  ‘Benedicite, brother.’ Aelred smiled. ‘I’ll just get the secateurs,’ and he returned to the prie-dieu where he had left them.

  ‘You’ve been doing your devotions?’

  ‘Yes. Do you have a special devotion?’

  ‘I prefer to keep my prayer life within the official liturgy, rather than keeping up all these side devotions. I’ve always thought of them as sentimental and belonging to old women and the Spaniards.’ Edward spoke in a tone that Aelred now recognised right away.

  ‘I see. Oh, actually, my mother is half Spanish. Well, let’s go to the garden, on the terrace.’ They pulled up their hoods and processed out of the novitia
te through the cloister and out to the terrace in silence.

  There was a mist still lying in the folds of the park, though the bright sun they had had over the last few days was beginning to break through. There was a chill in the air. The new light breaking through played on the walls of the abbey. There was shadow and light in the cloister and on the lawns beneath the terrace.

  ‘I don’t care what you say. It’s a garden to me,’ Aelred said pointedly, remembering Edward’s remark the day before, as he inspected the beds to see what they could pick and, at the same time, not denude Father Kevin’s hard work. ‘I suppose the thing is not to pick from one place. And any greenery you need, try and get it from different bushes. The greenery usually lasts a week or even more.’

  ‘I’d think you were Welsh if I hadn’t been told that you came from Les Deux - what’s its name?’

  ‘Les Deux Isles. The two islands. Yes, that’s what everyone thought when I first arrived.’

  ‘It’s the lilt in the voice.’

  ‘Yes, kind of sing-song. Maybe the French in the dialect.’

  By now Aelred had a bouquet of white daisies in his arms. ‘What’s this look like?’ He held the flowers up to the sun, which increased through the mist.

  ‘You’re the tutor, brother. I’m the apprentice.’

  ‘You’re always joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘Brother?’ Edward was taken unawares, confronted unexpectedly.

  ‘My father had a dry sense of humour. It can be misunderstood, can’t it? At times?’ Aelred said.

  ‘You’re - excuse me asking: I was wondering, and remarked to Benedict that first afternoon I met you - you’re not coloured, are you? Because you don’t seem so, and yet -?’