3. A Tale is Partly Told

The clergyman starts to give an account of his past half centruy

STELLA‘S AUTUMN

3. A Tale is Partly Told

Peter looked at Percival for one long minute, and frowned. Then, “I was driving past in the rain and I noticed your light was on, mum,” he said, “and I was worried in case you were ill or something else was wrong, and thought I’d better pop in just in case you needed me… It never crossed my mind that I’d bump into the ghost of Christmas past!”

“If I’d known he was in the neighbourhood, even if I’d known he was alive rather than picturing him dying in a drunken drugged up party in the bad old days, then I would have told you about him,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Then she turned her head to face Percy.

“You never once asked what happened as a result of our love-making,” she said, “and I was completely out of touch. What could I tell my son when he was born? Or daughter, if the baby had been a girl? I knew nothing about where you were or what you were doing from the moment you drove off to University. No kindly lover’s note, no telephone call when I felty lonely, but in my head the dreams you’d fostered with me as we… you know what, in this room, the two of us, pictures of the life you promised me we’d have. The two of us, together, you and me.”

“I know. I’m sorry, babe,” replied the clergyman ruefully.

“Look, we’ve got to talk this out, but not no, not at this hour of night. And you, Peter, It’s important to you as well. I need my beauty sleep now so can you both come back tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t know, babe,” muttered Percival, ”I’ve got my life to consider, you know, things to do, people to see…”

Stella looked at him and frowned so threateningly he could almost feel those eyebrows cutting into him. “I don’t know how you dared say that!” she snapped, “you walk out of my life for half a century and then you haven’t got time to do the decent thing and introduce yourself properly to your son! What’s more important than that, please tell me. A prayer in your precious church to the bearded fairy you so worship? Tomorrow morning, see!”

“I’ll be round, mum,” put in Peter, “is eight too early?” He grinned at her, knowing that she liked a lie in most days, and maybe tonight was already too late for her to wake up early tomorrow.

“That’ll do fine,” she replied tautly. “Eight o’clock your reverence, and not a minute later!”

And the miracle was that by one minute past eight the three of them were sitting round her kitchen table. She had showered and dressed in fresh clothes, a cotton frock because it promised to be another hot day, the storm having abated and the skies being blue again. Peter had clearly changed, into shorts and a bright tee-shirt, but Percival looked rumpled and untidy. It transpired that he’d spent the night in his car outside Stella’s house. To all intents and purposed he was homeless, though he kept that nugget to himself.

“Well,” began Peter, “of you are my father then it’s up to you to explain yourself, daddy.”

The arrogant cockiness had left the clergyman and he looked shame-faced as he surveyed his audience of two.

“All right,” he began, “and I’ll try to leave nothing of importance out. This isn’t easy for me, you know.”

“Or any of us,” put in Stella.

“You’ll see what I mean,” muttered Percival.

“I went to University like I explained to you all those years ago, Stella. That was honestly what I wanted to do, but I’d not been there long when I sort of made a dreadful mistake.” He paused, and Stella frowned and murmured “sort of?”

“Yes,” he continued, “and I beg you not to judge me until I’ve come to the end of my story. I’d been at University for only a matter or weeks when I was invited to a party. There were often parties at the weekend, usually in small rooms in the residential block, and boring most of them were! But this one was different. There was a great deal of aromatic smoke in the air and half a dozen fellow students were lounging around, crushed together in a small space, drinking and laughing, and a couple were getting intimate with each other. That would have been okay, but they were both boys and I’d never seen the like of it before! Then a pretty girl with long auburn hair started on me, touched me, you know, whispering to me, asking me if I want a smoke, and what was I going to drink. She was very insistent that I joined in and, to use her words, enjoyed myself. You must remember this was back in the sixties and there was quite a lot of talk about drugs, on the television, in the papers, generally, though this was the very first tim I’d come in touch with any myself. We lived quite innocent lives, didn’t we, babe?” he asked of Stella.

“Innocent enough for me to have become heavy with child,” replied Stella, “but carry on. Did you become a junkie after that party?”

He shook his head. “I was offered one, what were they called a spliff, and the girl, she was only eighteen, did the rest. There I was, a drink in one hand and a joint in the other and a girl undoing my flies, and I’m sorry, babe, but she was actually doing that, when an older man came in, un invited and without knocking. I knew he was important because the atmosphere in the room changed, the two lads cuddling up to each other shot apart as if they’d never known each other, cigarettes were stubbed out, even legal ones, but the lass who was onto me carried on doing what she had been doing. Regardless. And I was lost. I’d had a drink or two and could feel the effects of them, which loosened my morals quite a bit, and the smoke must have done the rest, because I made no effort to stop her. Then the newcomer came to me and grabbed me by one arm and hauled me to my feet. I resisted, of course, but he was strong enough to tear me into pieces if he wanted to.”

“Poor little Percy,” smiled Stella, “caught in the act of being a naughty boy!”

“It wasn’t so much me… but you’re right, I guess it must have been my fault because not once had I tried to stop Jane doing what she was doing to me. I had been really enjoying things until the interloper put a halt to everything by his mere presence. He hauled me to his office, he was a senior member of the University staff and carried a huge amount of weight. ‘Well laddie’, he said to me, ‘I guess you’re wanting to go home already, and the term’s not a month old!’ And I asked him what I’d done that was so wrong, and he smiled sort of sardonically and asked me if I thought it was okay for an intelligent man like me to be a rapist, a druggie and an alcoholic all at the same time, and I protested that I’d never raped anyone in my life, nor would I ever do such a thing. Then he threw me a bouncer, if you don’t mind cricketing terms.

“He told me that the girl was the Principal’s grand-daughter and the jewel in his world. And when he heard about what she’d been doing to me the whole story would have to be twisted so that she was the little innocent he believed her to be, and I would be the beast after her flesh.”

“That sort of thing can happen,” nodded Peter.

“Yes, son, especially back then, and I was hung out to dry, with only one option. I had to go to a place, a sort of rehab place, where I would be weaned off drink and drugs. As if I’d ever had much of either! But I could do nothing about it. I could no longer be a student at the university unless I went on a course of rehabituation at a religious retreat, and I’d have to go the very next day whether I wanted to or not. The decision, I was told, was already made.”

“So did you?” asked Stella.

“Do me a favour and put the kettle on, babe,” he said, “there’s a lot more for me to tell you yet.”

© Peter Rogerson 03.07.23

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