Gay Before God: An Awakening Love Forbidden by the Church

by William Bruce

  Once inside the waiting room the routine involved fetching Terry a strong black coffee with three sugars, followed by a corned beef sandwich James had made before they set out. The wait was usually short and before long they were on the way home. By the time they got to the old farmhouse Terry was exhausted and needed to go to bed, perhaps staying there for the rest of the day. The hospital treatment, although only lasting a few seconds, was the centre of their day for those six weeks. Bizarrely, it was a good time for Terry and James, for it gave them a real purpose and something to hope for.

  It was also a quieter time for them. Terry’s family, after the novelty of the initial hospital stays, were less often in touch. Mumsie rang most days. When James answered the phone the first thing she would say was ‘is Terry there?’ and expect to be passed over straight away. James was beginning to feel like a hired carer, albeit unpaid. When the family did come it was only for the day at the weekend.

  “After all,” Mumsie announced on one her Sunday afternoon visits, “we do have jobs and lives to get on with.” She was answering a criticism no one had voiced, though perhaps there was a growing unease in her mind. She was increasingly resentful, feeling out of touch with her son, realising time was short and she needed to be there with him.

  The family visits felt to James like an invasion. As well as Mumsie, there were her daughters and their latest partners. An assortment of grandchildren or step-grandchildren were nearly always part of the entourage. First one car and then another pulled up outside of the house. To James it felt like stones added to his back, to see how many it would take to break him. The greatest weight was the one chucked on at the end, the arrival of Victor. He always waited until the family had assembled, and then made an entrance. Treated like a hero he would march into the room to receive kisses from Mumsie and the sisters, lingering with each one. Everyone liked Victor, and when Terry saw this ritual, when not asleep in his bed, he caught the enthusiasm of the occasion.

  “He is very good to me, you know,” he quietly said to James. “Mumsie says she doesn’t know what she would do without him.”

  On such crowded days James felt out of place. Practically he was not needed as there were more than enough people to keep an eye on Terry. Emotionally he felt excluded. He wished he could have told them to go away or at least come back in ones or twos. Perhaps he should have done, but he didn’t have the strength. Overwhelmingly outnumbered, the only thing he could do was withdraw. He might slip away for a walk and sit in the churchyard, the church itself always being locked, or take the car for a drive, saying he was off on an errand.

  Wherever he went he would get out the bag of stones always in his pocket. Tipping them out onto his palm he would gently roll them with his finger. He knew they could not protect from the misfortunes of life; that much had been proved. But they still stood for something greater than health and a long life. They were the talisman of Terry’s love which had to be as enduring as the pebbles themselves.

  When he came back to the house he usually found it in chaos. In the kitchen different people were preparing food for themselves, the TV would be blaring but unwatched in the snug; the fire would have gone out because no one thought to add any coal, and Terry would be lying exhausted in his bed. Only once did one of the sisters gently pull James aside and quietly thank him for what he was doing for Terry. It was all the more remarkable because it was the only comment of encouragement and gratitude he ever received from the family. Their loyalty, in the tribal way, was to Mumsie and through her to Victor.

  In such circumstances James relied on the support of Terry, who after all the family had departed on such days, the house resembling a battlefield, always asked for a cuddle in bed. In those first few weeks Terry could see the strain and discomfort James felt, and even though Terry was the one who was ill he could bring healing to the situation. As they lay together, both exhausted from the day, Terry would whisper, “Remember who you are.”

  “What is that?” James would always ask, again a kind of litany they needed to perform.

  “You are my partner, and no one can take that away from you.”

  Easter came and Easter went without any particular recognition in the old farmhouse. It meant a longer weekend for the visit of the family, but they had no awareness of the significance of the day.

  “What are those bells ringing for?” Mumsie asked crossly on the Sunday morning. “They are such a racket. They are doing my head in!”

  Terry was sitting up in bed surrounded by piles of Easter eggs, of different types and styles but all of them large. It was his family’s way of saying they loved him. He hadn’t the heart to tell them since his treatment started he had gone off chocolate. They had all come upstairs to stand around the bed.

  “These are for you, my little pup,” Mumsie proudly added a few more eggs to Terry’s bed. “And this one is for you, Victor.” Mumsie made a point of presenting Victor with a very large egg. She followed it with a kiss to the cheek. “Yours is on the side, James.” as she gestured to a lonely chocolate orange sitting on the chest of drawers. She didn’t want to be seen to miss him out, but she resented having to include him. “Though it is Terry’s, actually,” she added and burst into a laugh. “Do you get it, Terry’s chocolate orange?” She prodded the nearest daughter and the family groaned in some sort of appreciation. Victor didn’t get the joke of course. James thought the gift was probably a leftover from Christmas. In any case he knew there would be plenty to share from Terry's pile once the family had disappeared.

  James was more concerned he felt detached from the season. It was the first time he had not gone to church at Easter in his adult life. Even the year before when he was being extracted from the church he had still attended a service. Now because of his commitment to Terry and his absorption, however unwillingly, into the culture of his family, the church seemed a very distant place. Sitting in the graveyard when he could snatch the time was as near as he could get these days.

  Perhaps what troubled him more was the church seemed to have locked him out. He knew the bishop would know of his predicament, for Charles, as a regular visitor, would keep him informed. But since James had resigned his job and the possibility of scandal was removed, pastoral care was no longer necessary. On one occasion James telephoned the local vicar in the hope he might bring Holy Communion to the house. Terry had asked for it, though perhaps more out of concern for James. The vicar never got back to them. They were, after all, new to the village and obviously not regular churchgoers. The vicar was in any case a busy man, and James felt he couldn’t pursue the request.

  He also lost touch with most of his Christian friends. They had been shocked when he had left Rachel, some finding it hard to conceal their disgust and outrage. Having put themselves in a position of moral superiority it was hard for them to show sympathy for James and Terry’s new trials. Some, though they could never verbalise it, thought it might be God’s judgement on them. James knew he could do without friends like that.

  It was as if the church did not know how to cope with real life. A priest who had chosen to live with a man, in itself a sin, was now needing support as that same man was terminally ill. To give pastoral care would force the church to recognise the nature of the relationship between the two men, which would compromise its view on sexuality. Sabotaged by its own righteous judgement, the church was denying itself the possibility of compassion, and the beginnings of reconciliation. Like the priest and Levite, who out of religious necessity have to pass by on the other side of the road, the church had to remain blind to any goodness the Good Samaritan would perform.

  Chapter 14

  When the daily hospital visits for chemotherapy came to an end a darker cloud emerged on the horizon. The routine had given a structure to life, and each day a battle against the tumour was actively fought. Every blast of radiation was tangible proof of something being done. Now the treatment was over, and they had to sit and wait, in painful patience.

  Mumsie’s vis
its increased, and she invited herself to stay overnight. She even suggested James might like to go away for a few days, a respite too freely offered. He had wanted to have a short break with Terry but the increasing frailty made this much less likely. Most disturbing of all was a change in Terry’s mood.

  One evening after Mumsie had gone home, Terry seemed particularly agitated. James was helping him out of the bath, and all of a sudden he felt rigidity in Terry’s body. At first he feared it might be an imminent fit.

  “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” was the scream. James did not recognize the voice. It sounded like a possessing demon. It went on: “You have deceived me from the start!”

  “What is wrong, Terry?” pleaded James, confused, though he thought it might be best to ignore the outburst. He was trying to rub Terry dry.

  “Get away from me, you bastard!” and as he pushed James away he collapsed into the chair by the bath. He began to sob. “You are all the same.”

  “It’s Ok, everything is OK,” James tried to be reassuring, stooping down to talk to him.

  “No it is not,” Terry looked angrily into James eyes. “You have ruined everything. I was so happy before you came along, and now look at me.”

  “Let’s get you to bed and you can sleep.”

  Without a word Terry let James lead him to the bedroom and there opening the covers help him into bed. In short jerking actions Terry adjusted himself, putting his head on the pillow and almost instantly fell asleep. James sat looking at him, wondering what the outburst had been about. He knew Terry would sleep well and probably not even remember it when he woke in the morning.

  James went back to the bathroom to let out the water and tidy up the towels. As he leaned across the bath, the water surged away and something took hold of him. The tears welled up in his eyes. He cried for the man he had lost, and for the new man who had emerged. He depended so much on the old Terry. His whole life, his new life had been built on that rock. Now it seemed like shifting sands, with all the unpredictability of insanity and a hostile world. But he knew he had to be strong, both for Terry and for himself. And the tears seemed to nurture a strength within him, and life could, had to, go on.

  The next day life did go on, as if nothing had happened. James even wondered, rather too hopefully, if it had been a dream. The sun shone and they managed to sit in the garden for a while, with tea in the silver teapot and a plate of scones. They could forget the world on such days.

  “I love being here,” announced Terry with a bit of a stutter in his voice. “And I love being with you.”

  “I love it too, sweetheart.”

  “Shall we watch a film this afternoon, together on the sofa,” asked Terry excitedly.

  “Sounds a brilliant idea.”

  Just then Terry’s mobile phone vibrated.

  “Answer that for me,” he asked without moving a finger to do it himself. He had got used to people performing the simplest tasks for him.

  “Hello,” said James.

  “Is Terry there,” came the unmistakable demanding voice of Mumsie.

  “I will just hand you over.”

  James gave Terry the phone, picked up the tray and walked the short distance to the house. He resented her intrusion just at the moment when they seemed to have insulated themselves from the rest of the world. He watched Terry from the kitchen window. He certainly enjoyed talking to his mother he thought, so it could never be denied him.

  “She wants to come tomorrow,” announced Terry putting down the phone when James went back out to the garden. “She also asked if you wanted to go away for a couple of days. That is kind of her.”

  “But I don’t want to go away.”

  “It would give you a rest, and I can see how tired you are,” Terry reached over to pull James’ face towards him. They kissed in a natural way.

  “Why not take the chance while you can?” Terry asked a minute later.

  “Only if you think you will be ok,” agreed James. “Does she know about your medicines, and could she cope if something happened.” He didn’t want to say ‘have a fit’ but both of them knew what he meant.

  “Well, she won’t be on her own will she. The family will come too, and I am sure they will all help.”

  The idea hung in the air for the rest of the day. James really liked the thought of having some quiet time to himself, and to sleep in a bed without the fear of being woken by a fit. But he so much did not want to leave Terry. As the constant carer for the last six months looking after Terry had become the whole basis of his life. Yet, if Mumsie was coming to stay he knew he would rather be somewhere else.

  “Ok,” he concluded later after they had watched their film and had a snooze wrapped together on the sofa. “I will have a two day holiday, but only if you think it will be alright.”

  “I want you to have a rest. I know how demanding this is for you, and you will come back all the stronger, for me!” Terry was at times aware of other people’s requirements, in as much as they affected him. Like most people who are terminally ill he tended to focus on the world exclusively through his own needs.

  James booked himself into a bed and breakfast on the coast for a couple of nights. It was a strange experience, being on his own. He felt quite lost with nothing to do. He tried to read but the book he chose seemed shallow and out of touch with the reality of his life. He wrote some letters to friends, but his contact with many had been so sporadic over the last year he was not sure what to say. He walked the sea front all the time wondering how Terry was and what he was doing. Often he sent a text, knowing at first Mumsie would read it and then pass it on to Terry. Occasionally Terry replied though not in way that seemed he had received every message. Eagerly James waited to return, and on the morning of the third day drove excitedly back to the old farmhouse.

  “There he is,” shouted Terry as James entered the garden. Mumsie looked up but did not smile.

  “I thought you weren’t coming until this afternoon,” she said.

  James ignored her and went straight to Terry. He kissed him.

  “I so missed you,” said James

  “And I missed you too, but we have been fine, haven’t we Mumsie.” Terry reached over to pat her on the knee.

  “We have had lots of visitors. You like it when people come to see you, don’t you, my little pup,” said Mumsie, speaking to and for her son.

  “I will go and put my stuff upstairs,” said James as he turned towards the house.

  “We have done a bit of reorganizing in the bedroom. It was Terry’s idea,” shouted Mumsie as James walked away. He did not acknowledge her but wondered what she meant.

  He stood at the bedroom door and surveyed the new layout. The old double bed had gone and had been replaced by two singles. They were pushed together, and yet the single duvets marked them as separate beds. James could not believe what had happened. At once he felt angry, and then betrayed. He noticed that a picture was missing, the one of them together. It had been replaced by a pastoral scene, very fine but no adequate substitute. Whatever he felt he could not say anything, for fear of upsetting Terry. He could see the sands had shifted again. More cracks were appearing in the wall of their relationship.

  Over dinner there were further revelations. It came after the tomato soup.

  “Mumsie has been so good to me the last two days,” proclaimed Terry. It was almost as if he was trying to deflect any criticism James might want to level at her. Totally disarmed James could not reply. Mumsie sat there feeling she had accomplished a lot in so short a time.

  “I have got some keys cut,” she announced with a new found confidence. “I hope you don’t mind.” She was looking at James. “The family will need them if they are helping out more these days.”

  “And that gives you more time to spend with me,” said Terry as he reached over to James to pat his arm. It was obvious he was trying to placate the situation. “And Mumsie has organized a party for me. Isn’t that nice!”

  When, where,
who, James wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  “Next month, on the Saturday afternoon.” It was as if Terry had seen the questions in James’ eyes. “Mumsie has spent a lot of time organizing it.”

  James looked across to Mumsie and she just smiled.

  “All the family is coming, and friends are as well,” added Terry. James knew this meant Victor. “And you don’t have to do a thing to help – they have it all sorted. Isn’t that great?”

  James couldn’t even pretend to agree. He left a gap that too obviously showed his disapproval.

  “If you can’t be happy for him,” shouted Mumsie rising to her feet and throwing her napkin on the table, “I will go home.” With that she walked to the door and slammed it behind her.

  “Now look what you have done,” said Terry with anger in his face. It was kind of new look that had only developed since he had been ill. “I think you could at least be grateful.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” protested James.

  “Exactly.”

  A heavy feeling filled the room. The main course remained untouched before them. They heard the back door slam and after a minute Mumsie’s car rev up and speed off.

  “I don’t feel very well,” said Terry as he started to stand. “I think I have a fit coming on.” He fell back into his chair. “And it is your fault.”

  Ignoring the comment James took his hand and reassured him.

  “Everything would be alright,” he calmly spoke the words stroking Terry’s hand to soothe away the tension between them. “Of course, the party is a good idea. And I don’t mind the change in the house. If they are what you want.” A few more strokes later he added, “Mumsie will come back, in half an hour or so.”

  Terry sat there looking dazed and breathing heavily. The threat of the seizure was receding. Like waves it lapped at his sides but had not engulfed him. In silence James carried on stroking Terry’s hand, but more slowly now. The danger had passed.