The Travellers - 13. Healings

In which Father Lighthouse has his talk with Kyle, both discovering that demons can be exorcised…but it is a painful process.

It was a summer day with typical Scottish weather: so every now and then there was sun, then it became cloudy and so once and a while some shower passed. Once the sun broke through again it became warm immediately, so Kyle had taken his blouse off while working at his chores. He was brushing Rover.

The animal seemed to enjoy it. It turned its head regularly and pushed his big snout against the boy’s body.

“Take it easy, laddie”, Kyle laughed, “In this way ye have me on the ground in no time”.

The horse snorted as if he was laughing the boy in the face.

While brushing, Kyle noticed Father Lighthouse walking through the garden. He went in the direction of the wagon and it appeared to Kyle, that he was looking for somebody or something. Suddenly the man spotted him and a broad smile came on his face.

“Good morning, Kyle”.

“Good morning, Father. Everything fine with ye?”

“Aye, everything perfect!”

He remained at a distance as if he didn’t know what he wanted.

“Looking for someone, Father?” Kyle asked curious, “Collin and Jamie are at work right now”.

“I was actually looking for you”, the man replied.

Kyle looked at him in surprise. Now that was a strange answer. He was here, with the horse and clearly visible, but the priest kept a distance of about five yards.

“Oh well, ye have found me”, he laughed.

“Aye, I did, but you know?” the priest said slightly ashamed, “I am a little fearful of horses”.

Kyle burst into a spontaneous loud laughter:

“Afraid of Rover? This old bloke wouldn’t harm a fly. Come over, I will show ye”.

Reluctantly the priest came nearer. When he had shortened the distance, Kyle was no longer able to suppress his burning curiosity and asked:

“Why are ye looking for me, Father?”

“I just wanted to talk to you”, the man replied, “I see Collin and Jamie quiet often but I never see you. Must be lonely for you, the whole day on your own at the wagon”.

Kyle shrugged. Yes, it wasn’t what he had expected of it, but life goes its own way. It was better than it had been. And he was with Jamie! That was enough compensation. But he saw no need to make the father wiser than he ought to be. As an added bonus he no longer was the laird’s private property. So, all in all: maybe it was not as exciting as he had hoped for but it wasn’t that bad at all.

Father Lighthouse thought; he was trying to find a good opening for the conversation he was planning to have. While doing so he observed the working boy. He couldn’t suppress the feeling that he knew the boy, no …not the boy, but more the way his body looked, his whole appearance, his way of moving, up to his grey green eyes, but he couldn’t recall where he had seen that kind of eyes before.

“Collin told me your father was killed at the front”, he started. He freely admitted, that it was not the most subtle of openings, but it was no use to beat around the bush.

It looked as if a dark thundercloud came over Kyle’s face. He only gave a short petulant nod in confirmation.

“Sorry,” the father said apologetically, “I didn’t mean to rip up old sores. I was just wondering how you cope with that loss”.

Kyle looked at him with an almost hostile look:

“I don’t cope with it. I know nothing, not where, not how and especially not why! So, tell me, how should I cope with it?”

“And your mother?” the father asked more carefully.

“She doesn’t have to cope with it any longer. She died about a year later of the Spanish flu. Aye, that was damned bad as well, it hurt a lot. But at least I know how she died and where. At home…”

As sob came, followed by:

“…in me arms”.

“My God,” the father thought bitter, “Did you really have to send this boy through every kind of hell you could invent?”

“Did you have any help in these difficult days?” he inquired, genuinely concerned by now.

“From whom?” Kyle barked.

“From the village priest or the vicar?”

Kyle broke into a jeering laugh:

“No, Father. Our family wasn’t interesting enough for the vicar. He preferred to spend his time with the gentry and the wealthy. The only one who was interested in me was the laird.”

He strongly emphasized the word “me” while saying it.

Brian closed his eyes in disgust. It wasn’t that difficult to understand what the boy had meant with “interest”. By now he could fully understand the resentful and angry attitude, that the boy displayed. Why should he trust a virtually unknown priest, who he had met only a few days before after all others had abandoned him?

“Only Collin and Jamie took an interest in me”, Kyle said with dripping cynicism. He thought the better of it and corrected himself by adding:

“No, that is not fair. They gave me the feeling back that I matter again, that I have a right to be here. That I am important for someone!”

“My God, of course you have the right to be there”, the priest confirmed, “Yes, you have lived through terrible times but that doesn’t mean that you are unimportant”.

Kyle stared at him briefly, his eyes screwed up in furious anger. With a voice filled with frustration and deadly venom he exclaimed:

“With all respect, Father…”

The way he screamed it out made Brian perfectly clear that the boy meant anything but respect. But Kyle hadn’t finished his outburst, not yet:

“Goddamned: what in hell do ye know about difficult times?”

The reproach, which these words contained, hit Brian Lighthouse as a blow with a sledge hammer. It brought him on the verge of rage. He felt the urge to turn around, leave the boy to fend for his own and walk back to the rectory. But he knew, that it would yield nothing either for him or, most of all, for the boy, so he swallowed down his anger. Actually, he bit his lip until it bled. He wanted to crack through that revengeful and cynical armor. When his rage had subsided, he asked quietly, deep sadness in his voice:

“Oh really, don’t I know anything about terrible times? How about those four years in Ypres? Or do you consider that a summer picnic?”

The boy looked at him as if in shock, clearly at a loss what to say. Only after a long time he asked in desperate gasps:

“Were ye at the front?”

The priest just nodded.

“I’ll be damned!” Kyle exclaimed, “Sorry, Father…there was no way I could have known about that! How should I know it? Oh goddamned…I’m so terribly sorry!”

“It is forgotten and forgiven, Kyle”, Brian said reassuringly, “There is no way you could have known about it”.

Brian sat on the stand of the wagon and invited the boy to join him with a gesture of his hand.

“There is something with this boy”, he thought. He kept having this feeling that he knew him, even in his anger. And his name rang a bell to him as well, but there was no clear picture yet to link him to his memories.

“I can’t understand how priests end up at the front, Father”, Kyle whispered shamefaced.

Brian laughed wryly and replied:

“It is not that hard. They just called me up and sent me there. I was an Army padre”.

“Were ye really at the front?” the boy asked, a bit more certain of his case.

“Aye, including the first trenches”, was the sad reply.

“Did ye see many dead people?” the boy inquired softly.

“Aye, I saw a lot of them: Englishmen, Belgians, Australians, Germans…I saw far too many of them”

“Germans?” Kyle asked in disgust.

“Dear laddie, when you stand eye to eye with your Creator your nationality doesn’t matter any longer. Then you are just a creature of the Lord, who asks for help with his last voyage. But tell me, where did you come from before you started traveling with Collin and Jamie?”

“Kirkstile”, the boy replied.

It rang another bell, but the priest had no idea where it was, so he asked:

“Where is that?”

“In the Border area”.

“I have heard that village name before,” the father thought, frantically looking for answers, “the boy looks like someone I know, his first name is Kyle, also somehow familiar…why can’t I find it?”

He tried to get some more information out of the boy to find the answer to this pressing question. All of a sudden, he had the feeling that his memory made the golden question available to him.

“What is your family name, Kyle?” he asked hesitantly.

Again, there was surprise on Kyle’s face. He couldn’t understand what his family name had to do with it. But if the man thought it was important: so what? He didn’t have to be ashamed of it!

“Elliot, father”, he replied.

The priest looked at him with intense prying eyes and asked:

“Was your father’s first name Liam? Was he Liam Elliot?”

Kyle’s mouth sagged open from utter astonishment. The question took all his ability to breathe for a short span of time, but when he was able to do so again he panted:

“Do you know me father?”

Brian sighed deep. That what he suspected more and more, had become the truth. With tears in his eyes he said:

“Knowing is too strong a word, but aye: I have met him. And I would have loved the opportunity to get to know him better”.

“But, where?”.

It was the question which could have been expected.

“In Ypres…at the front!”

Perplexed as he was, Kyle didn’t react. Not a single question came over his lips, but his eyes fired a drum-fire of them. Brian understood he had to be there for the sad boy. He tried to suppress his own shaken emotions, took another deep breath and fighting his tears he started his account with trembling voice:

“He was a piper in the same battalion where I was the padre, the 7^th King’s Own Scottish Borderers. It was in the beginning of August 1917. Your father crawled into an aid post, directly behind the first trenches. He pulled a man with him who was severely wounded. Your father didn’t seem to bother that his own wounds were even more grievously. He considered it his duty to get the other guy to the aid post. This other man, I really forgot his name, survived. Your father died. I was with him when he passed away. I asked him where he came from. He told me he was from Kirkstile. He looked at me with the same grey green eyes you have and with a tired smile he said:

“Well, padre, another Scotsman is going to die for an English King”.

Then he whispered two names: Emily and Kyle. His last words were “I’m coming to join ye, lassie!” I asked him if he wanted me to pray with him. I never got a reply: he had just stopped breathing”.

Brian was very well aware that he had left one thing out of his story. But why should he mention it: it wouldn’t bring anything to help in the digestion of the boy’s sorrow. To the contrary: it would only put new oil on the fire of the boy’s anger.

The memory always made him shiver: a doctor came, looked at the boy’s father, shook his head and continued his rounds to the next wounded man. Yes, it was a death sentence, but a necessary death sentence. The scarce medical supplies were only to be spent on casualties with a chance of survival. Every time the doctor shook his head it was solely the padre’s job!

The boy looked at him, eyes red and tears streaming over his face. Barely audible he asked in between his sobbing:

“So…he died saving another man’s life?”

Brian could only nod in confirmation.

The sobbing grew in intensity. Kyle’s shoulders shook uncontrollably. A torrent of tears started to flow. Brian let him…he laid his hands on the boy’s shoulders and pulled him up against his own body, then took him in his arms, only stroking the long blond hair. It was the only consolation he could offer at that moment. Every word he would have said would be superfluous and even a nuisance.

It took some time before the sobbing subsided. All this time they clung to one another, as if they were in some bond of sorrow.

Kyle swept the tears from his eyes and blew his nose.

“There are two things I would like to know, Kyle. But only if you can handle it”, the priest said quietly.

Kyle nodded.

“I know now who Kyle is. But who is Emily?”

“She was me mom”.

“And to which lassie was he going?”

“I think he meant me little sister, Father. She died a couple of days after she was born”.

In Brian’s mind all the pieces of the puzzle finally fell together. For a long time they stayed in each other’s arms, keeping each other very tight. What none of them comprehended at that time was, that they were healing each other. For Kyle the healing was, that he knew how, where and to what purpose his father had died, enabling him to come to peace with it.

For the priest the healing was more comprehensive: one of his demons now had a story, a life before his death and a face in the present, thereby becoming a substitute for all these many anonymous demons in his head, making them slowly disappear. It relieved him of the reason for all his nightmares.

Their intimate grasp of healing was broken by Rover. The horse had neared rather curiously and pushed his big snout against Kyle’s shoulder as if it wanted to say:

“Come on, go on brushing, it was so nice!”

Through Kyle’s tears his laughter reappeared because of the horse’s comical behavior.

“I told ye, Father, there is no need to be afraid of Rover”.

The priest stroked Kyle’s naked shoulder in a friendly way and said softly:

“Thank you, Kyle”.

Kyle didn’t understand. He was the one who should thank Father Lighthouse, not the other way around. He didn’t comprehend at all what the man meant. But he thought it unbecoming not to react so he said:

“Me pleasure, Father...but for what?”

The man looked at him smiling, bent over and gave the boy a tender but oh so chaste kiss on the forehead. Then he rose, saying:

“No, I don’t think you can understand what I mean. Leave it be. But it was very important to me. You know, your father must have been very, very proud of you. And I know for sure he still is, but now from some other place”.

He waved in a goodbye and walked back to the rectory, leaving Kyle in wonder.

Kyle swept the last tears away and the laugh reappeared on his face. It felt as if a heavy burden had fallen of his shoulders and he experienced it as an enormous relief.

“Come on, Rover,” he said, “Let us go on brushing for another while”.