THE LAST MONK. 06

The learning process continues

THE LAST MONK

6.

I had started to form an open relationship with Angela, my nurse, when she announced that it was getting late and she was going off duty. She told me she had a family waiting for her, and he thought made me feel the tiniest bit jealous.

“A lovely police-woman will replace me in a few minutes,” she said almost apologetically, “her name is Janet and you should get on well with her.”

I almost fell into the trap of asking him what a police-woman might be, but the word woman warned me off. I didn’t want another explanation that railed against everything I had believed to be natural in the world, so I kept quiet and said goodbye to him when he said a smiling goodbye to me.

I wasn’t left alone for long, but in what can’t have been more than a few minutes on my own my mind started wandering and I got to wondering whether it could be possible that the three monks I had known, the only three people I had spoken to for my entire life before I came to this hospital, had somehow misled me. If they had it meant that I wasn’t a man at all, but a woman, and I had been assured times-many that there’s very little pleasant about females, or women. Men, on the other hand, were Satan’s chosen people, and that made the practically perfect

But, I mused, I believe that I’m pleasant. I don’t commit any offences against Satan, like spit at the sound of his name like I was discouraged from doing that sort of thing years ago, something August had warned me against and rubbed my thigh in order to press the lesson home. Then, when he had passed to his tomb, and I watched him from the passage outside my cell, I had been struck by the realisation that nobody would comfort me like that again. Colonius had tried to smooth my way through life when I was upset about something like, he said, all boys can become upset from time to time, by letting one hand gently run through my hair and whisper things to me that were secret, like I love you, Betty…

Then, when he had been gone too, and I was left with Celestial, the monk who had always been severe about as much as he could be severe about and had slapped me hard on the seat of my pants for telling him what Colonius said to me in our secret moments, I was left with nobody to ask honest questions of. Questions like why are girls so wicked and why does Satan hate them?

And I was getting to be so messed up by my thoughts, lying there in my hospital bed, when my door opened and the most beautiful man walked in.

“I am Constable Fox,” he said, “but if we’re to get on you can call me Janet and I’ll call you Betty, if that’s all right with you…”

Of course it was all right with me! After all, my name is Betty, always was and I expect always will be, so why shouldn’t she use it when she’d addressing me?

“I like the name Janet,” I said, “it sounds…. Manly.”

There was me, of all people, raising the subject that was starting to upset me. Gender. Man, or men and woman, or women. Then there was boy and man, boys and men, girl and girls.

“It’s a lady’s name,” she said, smiling at me. “I’ve been told you’re a bit confused about gender because the only education you had as a girl was from three, what shall we call them, perverts?”

“No we shan’t!” I almost shrieked out, “the nurse implied there might be something wrong with the way they were to me, but they were kind and gentle unless they had to punish me, when they could be harsh. But mostly they treated me well, especially when I was a boy and still learning.”

“But weren’t some of the things they did to you, how shall I put it, unusual?” he asked, not at all apologetically.

“How would I know?” I replied, “they made me happy, especially when they discussed the ways of Satan with me…”

“Ah, Satan…” she whispered as if trying to find a way of saying something I’d find offensive about our spirit guide. Then: “I won’t discuss metaphysics with you because, to be honest, no two people can agree without anything when it comes to spirituality. But tell me, are you comfortable here? Because the doctor says he believes we can take you to the station tomorrow where you can help us work out what to do with you, and from there, maybe, to a home for single women where you should be comfortable. He might even manage to find some psychiatric help for you. Would you like that?”

What could I say? There was the gender thing again and I refuse to consider myself as anything but a man and certainly not a wicked woman, and what in the name of Satan is a psychiatrist?

“My little boy was born not much more than six months ago,” she said, “I think you’d like him. He’s saying a few words already, which is good for his age.”

I could say nothing to that because it had never crossed my mind that people, when they’re new, can’t talk.

“I’ll let you see him when we’re sure you’re safe…”

What did she mean, safe? I wasn’t in any danger, was I, so surely I was safe! Anyway, at my age, and I haven’t forgot what Celestial said about me being old and not so far from the tomb myself with Satan’s afterlife to look forward to, maybe I’m not as safe as this constable called Janet would like me to be.

Then he changed the subject, and made me cringe.

“I was talking to your lovely mother before I came to see you,” she murmured casually.

“My other died when I was born,” I protested.

“Is that what the monks told you?” she asked, as if it was nothing at all.

But to me it was everything. But what could I say? Not much, and nothing truthful. So I told a big lie.

“I remember it,” I said. I don’t normally tell anything but the absolute truth because that’s how the monks brought me up. To tell them the truth.

“You remember your mother dying?” he asked.

I’d told the lie, so I had to continue.

“It was horrible,” I invented.

She smiled at me. “That’s odd because it’s not how she remembers it,” she said, “she remembers how much she loved you. For twenty-two years she’s mourned you as if it was you who died. Tell me, Betty, how old are you?

I returned to telling the truth because I hate lying.

“I don’t know,” I said quietly, “the monks never told me…”

© Peter Rogerson 10.08.23

...