The Travellers - 12. Fears and Demons

In which the firmly planted seeds of Jamie’s fledgling artist career receive extra fertilizer and in which an evening business talk evolves in an intimate conversation, during which fears and demons re-appear. But whose fears and demons are they?

They arrived in Kilmacolm at the end of the afternoon after a relaxed voyage with a long break at noon and entered the village to search for the catholic church. Nobody paid any attention to them, they were considered normal passers-by. No, there were no greetings, but at least no vile remarks were addressed to them.

It was only a small village, so they found the church and the rectory, which was directly next to it, soon enough. Collin got off the wagon and rang the doorbell.

A middle-aged woman opened and looked at him. Her eyes were certainly not hostile or distrusting, but had more of a kind of worried and apprehensive look in them. She looked at the wagon on the street and asked:

“What can I do for you?”

“I am looking for Father Farquhart, madam. And if this is his rectory, I thought it might be a good idea to start looking here”.

“And who can I tell is calling?” she asked on a fully neutral, formally-polite tone.

“Collin MacKay, madam”.

The lack of distrust became clear when she left the front door wide open when she went into the corridor, enabling Collin to observe how she disappeared into a room. And even if there had been suspicion in her mind, it must have vanished completely because of what happened in the next few seconds.

A veritable tornado in a black cassock and with bright-red hair stormed from the room into the corridor:

“Mr. MacKay, how wonderful to see you!”

“Good afternoon, Father”, Collin replied, a bit off guard by the stormy reception.

“Welcome, welcome! Come in, please, do come in”, the priest exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Well, if you don’t mind: I prefer to put up camp first. Do you happen to know a nice camping spot where we bother no one?”

“Bother?” the priest said amazed, “Why bother? I have the perfect spot for your camp. You can put it up in the rectory’s garden”.

Collin looked at him puzzled.

“Oh yes…”, the priest continued, “it seems very convenient to me. Near work, near the shops, you can use the rectory’s kitchen and plenty of space for your wagon and your horse”.

“But, Father“, Collin muttered, abashed by what he heard, “what about your neighbors?”

“Oh, come on, Mr. MacKay, I’ll take care of that! Come, I will walk with you to show you the entrance. Then you can set up camp. You are not only the man who is here to make my new pulpit, you are my guest as well. And when camp is ready, I will show you around in my church”.

There seemed to be no way around it so they established their camp in the rectory’s garden. If you can call it a garden: it was more a large pasture, bordered by trees and privet hedgerows. After they were finished, they returned to the rectory, all three of them. The same woman opened again, but now with a kind smile:

“Better take the back door from now on. It’s more convenient for all of us, I think”

For a second time in one afternoon, there was surprise and puzzlement, but now in all three of them.

It didn’t take long before they wandered behind the priest through the church. The man hadn’t lied. It was a small but beautiful church. With admiration they looked at the wooden saint statues at the pillars, works of long-gone anonymous masters from past times. Especially the crucifix with the crucified Jesus on it, completely made from a single piece of carved wood, had their attention. It was a real master piece of wood carving art.

“Do you have any idea who made it, Father?” Collin asked in admiration.

The man shrugged and replied:

“No, no idea at all, it seems to be from the 16^th century. That is all I know about it”.

Suddenly Collin’s eye fell on something that was almost lost under the magnificent crucifix. It was a small cabinet, which stood on the high altar.

“Godda...eeuuhh….eeuh..sorry, Father…Jesus, Father...rococo on the Scotch west coast…!” he exclaimed, barely believing his eyes, “Where did you find that beauty?”

The man followed Collin’s gaze until his eyes fixed on the tabernacle. He didn’t reply. But Collin noticed how his eyes changed, expressing a curious mix of intense pride and infinite sadness at the same time.

Collin didn’t grasp the meaning of it, but he understood enough to let the matter rest for now. There was something peculiar with that tabernacle. He made a mental note to come back on the issue again, if the opportunity arose.

The day after they started with the actual job. Since the priest still had no idea of how his pulpit should look like, they started with designing. Collin let Jamie share in the designing phase. Kyle, with his perfectly shaped body, acted as the regular model.

Every design was discussed with Father Lighthouse. Some were rejected, others were amended. But at last, the final design took shape and on a sunny day Collin decided that this had to be it. He set up a meeting with the Father that night to present it to him.

On the arranged evening, Collin sat down in a comfortable chair in the Father’s study. Father Lighthouse sat opposite of him. After they had coffee Collin took out the drawings of the final design. The priest looked at them attentively and started to nod approvingly:

“Yes, Mr. MacKay, this has to be it! Really beautiful,…that is the way I want it to be!”

Collin felt satisfied. He left the drawings on the coffee table and said:

“There is one little thing I would like to discuss with ye, Father”.

The man looked at him in surprise.

“No, no, nothing shocking”, Collin smiled reassuring, “It has nothing to do with the price. It is just that…well, I have this exceptionally gifted apprentice, Jamie, the lad with the black hair. He is at the point where nothing is left I can teach him any longer. So I wanted to suggest that he makes the pulpit, as his first master piece, of course under me supervision. I will do it that way only if ye approve!”

The priest looked at him. With a broad smile he answered:

“Splendid idea, Mr. MacKay, give the youth a chance. They are the future. Do as you propose, I fully agree with it”.

Collin felt really comfortable now. The design was approved, as was his proposal to let Jamie do the actual execution of it. What else could go wrong this evening?

“And your other apprentice, Mr. MacKay, the lad with the blond hair?” the priest asked unexpectedly.

“Kyle? He is a good and very sweet boy, Father, but most definitely not a wood carver nor an artist. And he will never become one!”

“But why do you take him with you then?” the priest asked amazed.

“Because I love him”, was the simple and honest answer. The moment he had said it Collin knew he had given the wrong answer. It hit him like a high explosive grenade and he noticed how his head turned red. He had been lulled into some feeling of secure acquiescence, which caused him to be inattentive for just a few seconds, in which it slipped out. But maybe the priest didn’t pick it up anyway and nothing shocking had happened.

But Father Lighthouse did pick it up:

“Are you, by any chance, implicitly saying, that you are homosexual, Mr. MacKay?” he asked with amused eyes.

Feverishly Collin’s mind searched for a way out of the very harrowing situation. Best that could happen was a moralizing sermon, a step worse would mean they would lose this golden job. But the worst-case doom scenario would be that the priest would report them to the police, bringing each of them a couple of years of forced labor. Collin made up his mind. He decided, that the attack had always been the best defense.

“Are ye a homosexual, Father?” he asked, as casual as possible, as if he had never overthought the question.

The man laughed, his twinkling eyes betraying, that he thoroughly enjoyed the cat and mouse game.

“Your question is not important, Mr. MacKay, or may I call you Collin? It is absolutely of no importance if I fall in love with women or men. As a priest I made a vow of chastity so I live in celibacy. You can call it a kind of platonic relationship with God. The only problem is that nobody can tell me if God is male or female. So, your question is irrelevant. That reminds me…you haven’t answered my question yet”.

Collin knew he was in a vicious trap. He had to answer, one way or another. He looked deep into the eyes of the man across him, but couldn’t find a single trace of disgust or hate in them. They expressed tranquility and understanding. He liked the man and trusted him, so he decided to answer the question truthfully:

“Aye, Father, I am a homosexual!”

The Father nodded and almost casually he asked:

“And the lads? How about them?”

Collin just nodded.

“Would you care for some whisky, Collin?”, the priest asked, stunning Collin for the third time this day.

Without waiting for an answer, the Father rose, took two glasses and filled them with whisky from a crystal decanter. After he gave Collin his glass, he sat back with pensive eyes. Then he spoke quietly:

“I guess you expect a sermon now…or maybe even worse! No, do not fear, Collin! You know, I see sexual intercourse as the natural result of a successful connection on the mental and emotional level. God has never specified that this successful connection could only take place between man and woman. Actually, I don’t know if I have a relationship with a male or female Supreme Being. Therefor I don’t consider myself the most suitable person to cast the first stone!”

With big eyes of bewilderment Collin looked at the man. He had expected anything, but this?

Father Lighthouse just smiled, taking a sip of his whisky.

“But, Father, yer own church has totally different ideas and positions on homosexuality”, Collin objected.

The Father nodded:

“Yes, I know. To make it even worse: I am deeply ashamed to admit that specifically my church has caused this terrible prosecution in the 13^th century. Don’t ask me why they did it, I don’t know. But it was the Catholic Church that started the heresy of homosexuality and put terrible sentences on it in these years. Reformation has changed a lot, but unfortunately they took over these positions without any change at all. “

“And yer church does not exactly show an inclination to change their positions”, Collin added somewhat bitter.

The priest thought for a moment and then continued:

“You know, Collin: each rock erodes in the wild waters of the breakers. This rock is no exception. Maybe it will take a long time, but once this rock as well has become crumbles of stone that will wash away with the outgoing tide”.

Collin looked at him in disbelief…was he really hearing this? Was this a sign that the times were changing?

“Is that a prophecy, Father?” he asked carefully.

“Perhaps,” was the answer, “or maybe another typical case of wishful thinking!”

“Father, with yer way of thinking ye will never become a bishop!” Collin exclaimed spontaneous.

The man burst into laughter. It was surprising that this tiny, slim man had such a roaring laughter. It reverberated through the room. When he had calmed down the Father said:

“I don’t fancy that. I prefer to be a village priest, who takes care of his parishioners. Not only on the religious side, but also practically if they need it!”

A long silence fell. Both were immersed in their own thoughts and feelings, but nevertheless they felt as being together. All of a sudden Collin thought about the tabernacle on the high altar. He decided to give it another try:

“There happens to be a question, that ye have never answered, Father”.

The man looked at him in surprise and said:

“And what might that be, Collin? By the way, if I can call you Collin…I’m Brian”

Somehow Collin felt privileged that he was allowed to call this man by his first name. But he suspected a trick to evade an answer as well and he had no intention to forget about his unanswered question:

“The tabernacle…where ye got it from? Ye never answered that question!”

The intensely sad look was back in the eyes again, the one he saw before in the church. The Father stared through the garden doors in the deep black of the night. He didn’t speak a word. Collin wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw the man’s eyes becoming wet.

After a few minutes the priest rose:

“Another drop of whisky, Collin?”

It looked as if all chances on an answer on his question had gone out of the window. It appeared as if the oyster closed itself up again hermetically. But Collin’s taxation was wrong.

After he had given another full glass, Brian sat down. He continued staring out of the garden doors, but finally he started speaking:

“Let us start with the tabernacle you were asking about. I bought it for a symbolic price. The seller was not really interested in the money but was looking for something completely different”.

Collin looked at him questioning. A sad smile came over Brian’s narrow face and he continued his story:

“I bought it from a Belgian priest. It was the only thing he could salvage out of his totally destroyed church. He didn’t want the money, he just wanted this little piece of art to be safe and wanted to make sure it would survive this terrible war unharmed”.

“You were there?” Collin asked with soft voice, “At the front?”

Brian nodded:

“Yes…I was an Army Chaplain!”

“How did you become one?” Collin asked surprised.

“Quite simple”, the priest replied, “The War Department sent me a letter with orders to report at such and such a place and on a given day and time and threatened me with the direst consequences if I wouldn’t obey”.

He took a sip of his whisky, savoring it thoughtfully, then continued:

“And since then I only followed the pipes, searching for those who were in need of my support, feeling more and more like a ghoul”.

“I didn’t know they had any chaplains in the Army”, Collin muttered in astonishment.

“Oh aye”, Father Lighthouse sighed cynically, “Somewhere in history some general had the bright thought, that there should be special personnel to keep the fighting spirit in the rank and file burning and to keep the men’s will to sacrifice themselves for King and Country alive”.

More and more tears became visible in his eyes. He took a deep breath and went on with his recollections:

“You know, Collin: if thousands of good and beautiful men have died in your arms, if you have accompanied each one of them during his last battle, which he was bound to lose from the beginning, then you start seeing things in a totally different perspective. You have to: daily life under these circumstances is too barbaric to maintain your old, safe perceptions. Then all futilities, childish prejudices and disgust against other people that is based on thin air becomes child’s game and of no importance what so ever. Then only the important things in life remain: love, compassion and respect.

Collin swallowed…the man’s sincerity and words moved him deeply.

Brian burst into a subdued anger, his voice filled with pain and choked tears:

“I assume that is the reason why I think totally different from what my own church teaches. You know who made these detestable rules? It was the bishops and cardinals, all safe in their cozy luxurious palaces and in the Vatican. In all these years I have never seen a bishop or a cardinal at the front. At the spot where it really happened, where as a priest you had to scratch all bits and pieces of moral courage together to support people in their agony. Where the principles of the Gospel were no longer a patient piece of theory, but where they had to be put into practice, day after day, four long years after another. It most certainly was no place for Scripture zealots and Pharisees!”

“So even priests have their demons, who keep them awake at night”, Collin thought, deeply moved and almost in tears himself.

But Brian recovered and with a tired smile he said:

“But you lived to tell the story”.

“Yes,” Collin replied, “but only because I happened to be in a neutral country and got interned. Because I was there by coincidence when the war started. But Kyle lost his father at the front. He doesn’t know where and how. I really have the feeling it is nagging at him”.

“You want me to talk to him?” Brian asked.

“Yes, that would be nice,” Collin whispered, “It can never harm, can it?”

Brian spoke on:

“You know what is so funny about our Christian religion? The biggest fear of any religious man is that, after his death and in his eternal life, he will end up in hell. But we seem to forget, that we are perfectly able to ignite hell ourselves during our earthly life, there at Ypres or Sedan or Metz. I really try to make my contribution to avoid a repeat of this massacre. Now you know why I don’t aspire to become a bishop. I have no illusion that I would be able to influence the big politics of the world. But at least I can work to try to achieve a better world in my own sphere of influence, like in being the parish priest of Kilmacolm”.

He drank his last sip of whisky.

Collin looked at the clock on the mantelpiece…it showed half past one!

“I’d better be going, Brian. I assume ye have an early Mass tomorrow morning. And since the design is approved, we will have to start finding suitable wood to make it”

Brian Lighthouse accompanied him to the rear entrance. They shook hands, but strangely enough the priest didn’t release Collin’s hand right away.

“I’ll talk to Kyle one of these days”, he said softly.

Collin only nodded in a silent approval.

“You know, Collin MacKay, I loved this conversation. It is the kind I needed for a long time. I want to thank you for it from the deepest of my heart”.

“My pleasure, Brian, I consider it almost a revelation. I want ye to know I consider ye a beautiful and great man”.

The only reaction to his remark was a shy and modest smile and an even firmer pressure on Collin’s hand. But then Brain said softly:

“You trusted me, so I could only put my trust in you!”

They wished each other good night and Collin slowly walked back to the wagon. Never before had he needed such a long time for such a short distance. Time and again he stopped under the clear night sky with its twinkling stars to think over what had been said. It was too much to comprehend at once.