11. Sinners or Not?

After the cave visit, a bar debate.

STELLA‘S AUTUMN

11. Sinners or Not?

Back in the hotel several of their fellow passengers or travellers, call them what you will, sought rest after a tiring day in the hotel bar. After a shock when presented with a price list, they all chose something, rather, supposed Stella, than giving an impression of poverty .

This was, of course, their third day out of England and they had got to know some of their fellow passengers quite well.

The general consensus was that it had been an educational day, but there were some who declared they were on the trip to have a hoiday rather than be educated even though they’d enjoyed it. They’d done the learning bit donkey’s years ago at school. Most of the party had left their school days way behind and a majority had even passed beyond the age for retirement. One or two were clearly almost in their dotage qnd sat gazing quietly from here to there and back again..

But there was one couple, probably not yet in the same age bracket as Stella, though they failed to own up to their ages, Tony and Donna, who stood apart from the rest because they were more outspoken than the entire remainder of the party put together. And it seemed that there was nothing more pleasing to them than finding fault just about everywhere.

It was Donna’s voice that rose above the others whilst Tony’s rumble of support for everything she said was like a sombre echo from the grave. And it was whilst they were enjoying a social drink in a group in the bar that Donna chose to have her say on the subject of restoring ancient monuments as well as the paintings they’d seen in the cave that day.

“They weren’t old, they were just about brand spanking new,” she said, “it’s all a means of making money out of the ignorant. That’s the French all over, that is. I mean, Look at William the Conqueror!”

“We can’t,” someone said, “he’s been dead for centuries. He won’t be any more than dust by now, and I don’t fancy looking at a pile of dust for inspiration.”

“Just you take note of what my Donna has to say,” growled Tony., “she knows what she’s on about and you don’t.”

“You poor devil,” murmured another elderly man,audibly “how many years have you had to put up wuth that woman, I wonder?””

“Those so-called cave paintings are a con!” grated Donna, ignoring the implication in the interruption, “they’re not old at all! Even the silly young bloke who showed us round admitted that’s the case.”

“It’s a replica because the original one is deteriorating,” reminded Bill Weigh, the coach driver who was relaxing with a metric pint of French beer as he had the next day off. “If more visitors had been continuously allowed in the original Lascaux caves there would be nothing left of the original art for your kids to enjoy.” He peered at Donna. “Or grandkids.” he murmured

“But we should be allowed to see the proper cave, not a modern piece of nonsense,” growed Tony, “one that the original artist would recognise, not something off Ebay yesterday!”.

“I demand my money back!” shouted Donna, “and don’t we all? It was a con, that’s what it was: a piece of French deceit!”

“Now let me see, what else do we want to dispose of because it’s a copy?” asked Stella, taking a dislike of Donna and possibly also Tony.

“There’s nothing,” insisted loud-mouthed Donna, “the good lord sees to that.”

“Really?” smiled Stella, “would you agree with that, darling?” she asked Percival, who probably had some idea what might be coming his way any moment now. All he could think of in reply was suggesting that they drink up and retire for the night.

“What about your bible,” darling?” she asked him.

“My… er what?” he asked, “I might be a vicar in mufti, but I’m not qualified to… to…”

“Admit that the bible is a translation of much older texts?” asked Stella, “with subtle little bits added to suit the mood of a later day?”

“And taken out,” he found himself agreeing, “quite a lot was taken out because the early Roman church didn’t like it? Like the bit about Jesus marrying Mary Magdalen?

“Blasphemy!” snarled “Donna, “In holier times you would have been burnt at the stake for even suggesting that sort of nonsense. Jesus marrying? It says nothing about that in the good book!”

“And you’d be hard pressed to find a passage that says he didn’t,” murmured Percy.

“That’s got nothing to do with copying the pictures done by cavemen!” suggested Tony.

“Oh, they weren’t cavemen,” Stella told him, “they lived seventeen thousand os so, give or take the odd month, years ago, which is just about the modern age,” she added. “Come on, lover boy, it’s beddy-byes time.”

She stood up and he picked up hus glass and swallowed what remained in it.

“Just a minute,” called a voice from outside their immediate circle, a much younger woman than most, in the company of a man who may have been her boyfriend or, thought stella, a refugee from the sxties when quite a lot of youngish men looked like that, all uncontrolled hair and beards, and “are you really a vicar, sir?” she asked of Percival.

He nodded. “for my sins, I am,” he confessed.

“Then you can do it! You can marry Chrissie and me right now! Then we could go to bed and know that this whole silly holiday has really been worth it.”

“And you’re living in sin with him?” demanded Donna, “a mortal sin if ever there was one, sharing a bed with a relative stranger!”

“So, Donna, I take it you’re married to Tony?” asked Percy, eyeing her critically.

“Of course I am! I’m a Christian woman, so put that in your pipe and smoke it!”

“I thought you must be. Come on, Stella, as you said, time for bed. And by the way, if you’re curious anyone, we’re not married.”

© Peter Rogerson 13.07.23

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