11 THE VISITING CARD

It's not real philosophy, just a comment on bigotry.

Father Samuel Tinder untied the string that held the sheet of paper to the house-brick with shaking hands whilst Sophia examined the window. There was a mark where the brick had struck, but some miracle had kept the glass intact.

Miracle or just one of those things, thought Sophia, and she turned to watch the Priest.

He was pale as he slowly read the message that he’d carefully released from the brick. Then he turned to his visitors, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

“He hates me for being right,” he whispered, “he hates me for my beliefs.”

Sophia went up to him and put one arm round his shoulders, which made him cringe as though he was being touched by ice or fire.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I was doing the right thing,” he mumbled, shaking her off, “the woman was no believer and actually behaved in a most unchristian way. I was told.”

“She was my best friend,” Sophia said, equally quietly, “she lived such a virtuous life, helping so many people with their problems, and always smiling. If there is anything as the perfect Christian, then she was it, though she didn’t believe in God or Christ. Rather than that, she believed in human love, and by all accounts she loved very well indeed.”

“Then she was a sinner,” said the Priest flatly. He stared at the paper he was still holding. “You can’t call a sinner good,” he muttered, “can you?”

“Is loving a sin?” asked Sophia.

“There’s love and there’s love,” he replied defensively, “and love for God is wonderful! But love of the flesh … it’s sin!”

“And that’s nonsense,” said Constance, sounding outraged.

“I know what I believe.” Father Tinder sounded obstinate, yet unsure of himself at the same time, like the man who, believing a fiction, can’t bring himself to wipe it from his mind.

“And the good Samaritan?” asked Constance from where she was still sitting, “wasn’t that a biblical story that showed that even enemies can be good?”

“I don’t know...” The Priest sounded truly wretched, then he turned to his visitors. “I must ask you to go,” he half choked, “I need to be on my own...”

“To work things out?” asked Sophie, “to find out where you’ve gone wrong?”

“I’ve done everything in my life according to the laws of God,” mumbled Samuel.

“Ah,” asked Constance, “but which God? The loving one of the new Testament or the harsh, cruel and unforgiving one of the old?”

“They’re the same,” he said, “they’re the heads and tails… if gods were coins, that is. That’s what they are: the heads and tails.”

“Come on, Sophe,” urged Constance, “let’s leave him to work things out.”

“There was a woman in the shop,” mumbled the Priest, “she helped me with my bank card and she was a good Samaritan. But she was a woman, and women are the very essence of sin itself. That’s why I wouldn’t bury the woman in the church, because she was tainted by sin. A kindly old woman who prays every day and every week called her a harlot.”

“Then that old woman was never kindly,” snapped Sophia, “and if there was any sinner around it was probably her! And as for the woman and your bank card, you didn’t really look at me, but it was me, and to be honest I’m no good Samaritan! But if you ever feel you do need some woman to help you out of a mess, here’s my number. You can ring me and see how good I can be!”

And she handed one of her cards to him before she and Constance stormed out of the Presbytery into the evening air.

“The man’s evil,” growled Sophia.

“No, Sophe, he’s been brain-washed from birth, been fed nonsense and he believes every syllable of it. And there’s one thing that people who’ve based their lives on lies can’t do, and that’s admit they’ve been taken in. Better to believe the fictions than turn to the truth and be mocked for seeing the light.”

“But they wouldn’t be mocked,” said Sophia.

“You know that, I know that, but in their hearts they don’t.” sighed Constance as they shut the wrought iron gate behind them.

oo0oo

The women were no sooner out of the Presbytery and Father Tinder was trying to settle his mind when the phone rang. He wasn’t keen on phones, but he had to have one, though he had long since decided that the diabolical mobile form of the instrument and he would be for ever strangers.

“Hello,” he said, almost angrily.

“It’s the Bishop here,” came the booming, familiar voice of his superior in the church,

“Yes sir,” he mumbled, still shaking from the events of the past few minutes, and still holding the cursed letter that had been tied to a brick.

“The new man’s coming to look around tomorrow,” grunted the Bishop, “so be ready to move. He’s travelling light, so to speak, and will move into the Presbytery this weekend and be ready to conduct services from dawn on Sunday. Meanwhile, you have a cot at the monastery waiting for you.”

“But...” he said, not sure what to follow the monosyllable with.

“No arguments, Father,” grunted the Bishop, “we need to get you out of that Parish as soon as possible. There have been suggestions that you have attracted the attention of some who may wish you harm.”

“But...” he said again, still lost for words.

“Tomorrow, then. Be packed and ready. I have ordered transport for you and your personal effects.” And the Bishop, with no suggestion of goodbye or farewell rang off.

“But...” groaned Father Samuel Tinder, his mind a chaos of ignorance.

Then without thinking, he sunk to the floor on his knees. His front room was silent and he could just about make out the mark left by the house brick that had been flung against the window. Was that the harm the Bishop had mentioned? People actually meaning to hurt him?

Outside, daylight was still bright, the shadows getting longer as the sun slowly sunk westwards.

Then he prayed.

Dear Lord, he said, loud enough to him to be able to hear himself, dear Lord, I am being moved from this, your house, and I can’t understand why and what I have done wrong. I have been mocked by sinners, been wronged by them, and yet the Bishop blames me and is removing my ministry from me. I suppose I must have encouraged them, the two women, may I be saved, who have been with me in this very room and their presence must have made me a sinner too, sharing the mischief of Eve with every word they spoke to me, breathing the same air, hearing the same sounds, sharing the same words. Oh Lord, may I be forgiven and may the lightning bolts of your anger strike down on them…

Then he paused.

A shard of brilliant sunlight, reflected off a passing vehicle on the road beyond his gate, sought his eyes And for a fractured second he imagined it might be a lightning bolt, though where it could have come from he had no idea.

And it didn’t feel like real anger.

oo0oo

“The man’s a lost cause,” grumbled Constance, “and, you know, I really think he believes every word he says! I wish I hadn’t helped him with that bank card!”

“Ah, but has our visit helped you with your novel?” asked Constance, pretty sure that it hadn’t.

“It might have if I turn my own Priest, who’s handsome and deluded, into one like the madman we’ve just left, who is hardly handsome and worse than deluded.”

“He’s not that bad looking,” teased Constance who knew that the writer of widely admired romances was, herself, alone in the world. Constance would, therefore, have loved to pair her up with an available man and to her mind even a priest would do.

“He’s awful!” snapped Sophia, “and I would never dream of befriending such a bigot! Can you imagine what it must be like to live inside his head! He believes us women are sinners, yet he must know that it’s always men who start wars, men who bully children, men who do all the truly reprehensible things in the world!”

“Hey, Sophe, easy on! I’ve known some pretty savage women too, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Constance...”

“Sophe, were you hoping…? You know, at the back of your mind, that a priest might be the right kind of man for you? After all, you need one.”

“Nonsense, Constance! I don’t need anyone in my life. I’ve got my laptop, and that keeps me warm!”

“Even in bed, Sophe?”

“Constance, don’t go down that road. Please.”

“I won’t. But I’ve got to get home, love. You might not have, but I’ve got a man waiting for me.

Sophia sniffed. “And I’ll bet he won't be happy, you not having his dinner ready for him!”

Constance grinned at her. “Not at all,” she said, “in my home he’s the head cook! And he’s damned good at it. So there! But I’ll probably wash the dirty dishes.”

“It was a disaster, wasn’t it?” sighed Sophia.

“What? Our little visit? I’d say not quite a disaster, wouldn't you?”

“What was right with it, Connie?”

“Well, you did manage to leave your phone number with him, didn’t you? Which means you’ve just got to have half an eye on the future...”

“I didn’t mean that...” murmured Sophia, but deep in her heart knew that she just might have.

© Peter Rogerson 17.01.19