THE LAST MONK 3

It's looking as if Betty's understanding of life is very different from that of the Inspector

THE LAST MONK

3.

I must have fallen asleep after I’d been put back into what they called a bed because when I opened my eyes in what seemed mere moments to me the windows through which sunlight had streamed were now looking out onto a world of night eevn though occasional flickers of this or that unimaginable something teased the night sky. And to complement the darkness there was a wonderful peace even though some magical kind of light was keeping the room I was in illuminated.

Back in the monastery we had the latest fat lamps, made by me usually, after an animal was slaughtered for food and the fat melted down and placed in a can with a threaded wick.. To us such devices were modern even though they did sometimes smell less than pleasant, but the bright light sources near my bed in this so-called hospital weren’t that sort because they didn’t smoke at all. They just created light, and I wondered if Celestial had known about them.

It was while I was ruminating about such matters that I heard a voice from the other side of the door that enclosed my bed space, and another replying to it. I have the sort of memory that can retain even quite complex things without me having to try hard, so what amounted to a conversation can be repeated here without me making too many mistakes.

“How is she?” asked the first voice that I shall henceforth call first.

After a brief pause a second voice, that I shall call Second, replied as follows, “Inspector, she seems well enough though I’m worried about how little she says.”

“How little, constable?”

“Well sir, as of this moment, nothing.”

“Do you think she might be deaf and dumb? Or maybe mute? Or stupid?”

“I just don’t know, sir.”

And the conversation faded away as apparently the speaker were moving from where they’d been standing and went out of range of my door.

After tten the night wore on and I must have fallen asleep again because when I opened my eyes the sun was beaming straight through the window and the magical lamps I had noted with so much interest had been extinguished.

The good thing was I actually felt refreshed, a sensation I’m not oo used to experiencing. The events of the previous day or days as it could have been, with me being almost dragged out of my cell at the monastery and then somehow transported to this hospital place, ran though my mind, but I still couldn’t make much sense of it. I even allowed my memory to pause over the soaking I’d received in the shiny white container that had felt so very pleasant. But my memory gave me a moment to worry. My chest cloth. I couldn’t feel it. Surely it had been replaced? The last thing I wanted was for my chest to swell up kike Celestial had said it would if I cast that cloth aside for even a moment.

I was deeply involved in that particular worry when the door opened and a young man in the skirts that those who had bathed me yesterday wore.

“So you’re awake, dearie,” he said with what looked like a smile that also revealed impossibly white teeth.

I nodded, and thought silence from me might be impolite, and added “yes, thank you.”

“Oh, so you can speak! That’s going to be handy when the Inspector comes to talk to you.”

“Please, what is inspector?” I asked, feeling it might be safe for me to satisfy my own curiosity.

“Oh, just the policeman trying to sort out what to do with you, my dear,” he replied with a bright and what I even thought lovely smile. I wouldn’t mind looking like that if I stared into a looking glass.

I wanted to ask what she meant by policeman, but thought that maybe if I showed too much ignorance in this strange place they might put me in a cell for the insane. I’ve heard of such places and I was warned, once, that it might happen to me if I showed no sense.

Asking too many questions might just do that, demonstrate my lack of sense and earn me a lifetime in a tiny, cold cell like, a long time ago, August had threatened me with before he went to his tomb. After all, my own cell was hardly huge and although it’s my home I sometimes felt I could use more space.

But I needed to know one thing. I was feeling thirsty and surely these devils didn’t intend me to die of thirst in this comfortable room?

“Is there urine to drink?” I asked.

He reached to a table next to where I lay, smiled, and indicated a vessel made of something so clear it must indeed be precious.

“Water,” he said, “help yourself. There’s no need for anyone to suffer from thirst.”

Water? Was I expected to drink so precious a liquid even though I said I was thirsty. Surely urine would do, like it had for so many years in the monastery? I usually drank my own, though Celestial’s was available to me, but it tasted wrong, somehow, whilst mine was almost pleasant after it had been boiled for purity.

But I sipped the water, and, you know, I have never sipped anything so wonderful in all my life! Back in the monastery we knew about water, of course, or rain, as we called it, and we collected it and saved it for boiling our cabbages and other foods that were made edible by boiling. So this is what it tasted like? I emptied the container without giving it any thought, and to my great shock the man refilled it from what looked like a jug, and replaced it on my table.

“Do you think you can face up to the Inspector now?” he asked, “you can refuse if you’re not up to it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“He’s worried. You have shown signs of being tortured, and it’s his job to root out who did it to you and make sure they’re punished.”

I thought for a moment. There was nobody left at the monastery except me, and I hadn’t tortured myself, unless the odd hour of self-flagellation counts as torture. But Satan demands such obedience and it would take a foolish novice or monk to disobey his orders. Celestial made sure I knew that!

“Nobody’s hurt me,” I said, perfectly truthfully.

“The Inspector needs to talk to you anyway,” he said, smiling, all teeth and red lips. How did a man make his teeth so white and his lips so red? It was beyond me. My own teeth turned brown ages ago, and quite a lot fell out.

“All right,” I said, “I’ll see what he wants.”

When the Inspector came in it was a woman, lightly bearded, pleasant enough. She smiled at me.

“Now young woman,” she said, “I’m pleased to see you’re being looked after well. Tell me, what is your name? I need it for my records.”

“I am Betty,” I said, then bravely, contradicting him, I added “But I am not a young woman, I’m sorry but I am an old man…”

TO BE CONTINUED.

© Peter Rogerson 07.08.23

...

Reviews

[Ruthies]

.....veeeery puzzled by now....