30. A Deceased Scumbag

A Chapter by Peter Rogerson

Whilst Barney starts to come to terms with the reality of gender, Gozza Scumbag seems to be quite ill

Barney was subdued when they found the whereabouts of the refectory at dinner time, which was announced by the tolling of a resonant bell that seemed to reverberate for ages once it had started. It was well into the evening and they were surprised to discover that the Retreat obviously had an arrangement with a local fish and chip shop because cod and chips was the main item on the menu. There were other comestibles, though, to cater for those who found a pescatarian diet not to their taste. However, both Barney and Emma were more than satisfied by the main item.

Barney, though, wa subdued throughout the meal even though he made some attempt at seeming normal. But that was far from successful, and it troubled Emma who had only been aware of the rather placid vicar he had always seemed to be, with a ready smile when he saw her. In his lonely life in the parsonage he left nothing like his perception of sin arise to trouble him.

Back in their room (and they both acknowledged that it was their room rather than his, a shared place with a shared bed, Emma decided to tackle the unhappy streak with which a man she had hitherto respected was obviously living his life.

“Well, Barney, it won’t be long before we have to get some sleep,” she said, and then, plucking her courage almost, it seemed, to breaking point, she added, “I think I’ll get undressed now. It’s warm enough in here to roast a duck as it is!”

“Where?” he asked, a sudden light of desperation seeming to suffuse his entire personality.

“What do you mean where?” she asked, perfectly aware of what was going through his mind but determined that she should encourage him to see their genders in a quite natural way. “If you don’t mind, that is,” she added, knowing that he did mind but wondering whether he could break through the shyness imposed on him by a life of something more private than celibacy. After all, it wasn’t a dictate of his church that forbade him to enjoy his natural instincts, which somehow over his entire childhood and into adulthood had been suppressed by parental bullying.

“I might see…” he groaned.

“You might see what?” she asked, “I mean, is the idea of maybe catching a glimpse of my sin such a threat and the promise of unimaginable horror that it frightens you? And before you waffle on about sin and hellfire, let me tell you that innocently and unintentionally catching sight of my belly button cannot be anything like a deliberate sin on your part because an accident is precisely what the word means: accidental!”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I truly am… I’ve never seen a woman getting ready for bed. I’ve no experience…”

“Then don’t look,” she said as she reached behind herself to undo her bra, “but do you know why your male body is different from my female body? You must have some idea. Even young children soon pick it up, and you were a kid once!”

“It’s to do with birth,” he forced out , “I’m not totally ignorant, you know. But… please don’t laugh at me, but I’ve never found out how!”

“Then I’d better explain,” she smiled, “shall we begin with the birds and the bees and the pollination of flowers?”

“I’m not a child!” he snapped, “I was taught that at school! But with flowers there’s pollen to be transferred from one blossom to another and I can’t see how that has anything to do with humanity at all!”

“Barney,” she said quietly, “did you ever wake up in the night when you were younger having experienced what they call a wet dream?”

He looked at her, an expression of horror on his face.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Because you’re a man and that messy stuff is your pollen,” she smiled, “and you have an apparatus designed to transfer it to the lady flower. You know what I mean?”

“Do I?”

“Of course you do! And if you’re in a scientific frame of mind I’ll let you demonstrate how when we’re snuggly in bed together… though I must warn you, this particular lady flower is past it. The seeds have all gone away. But the mechanism should still function.”

“And will I be destined for hell?” he asked, still troubled.

“You silly man!” she laughed, “think about it rationally. If your god had made it so sinful for people to join together like that then there would no people on the earth, no babies born, only old men and women falling off the shelf of life, then nothing. Maybe the planet would be better off if that was what happened, but as it is there are millions of people in every corner of the world, and they’re all letting the man flowers shed their pollen into the lady flowers…”

“Oh no,” he mumbled, “the story, mummies and daddies, my own father… he did it!”

“If he hadn’t,” she said, “then there’s be no troubled Barney Pickle waiting in front of me to learn what to do…”

Meanwhile, in the car park the other side of the Cowslip Retreat a limousine had pulled up and the Bishop Pyke was looking understandingly at the boy sitting behind him.

Mext to him on the front seat sat Doctor Blanding and behind him DI Ian Glumpy was keeping Gozza Scumbag company.

“Well, lad, here we are,” the Bishop said with a smile. “you’ll be able to get as much rest as you need here, and they say the food’s really good.”

“If you like seafood, that is,” smiled Doctor Blanding, “I’ve had several patients who’ve been here for the odd week or two and haven’t wanted to go back home at the end of it!”

“But what do I do here?” asked an apprehensive Gozza.

“Whatever you like,” the Bishop told him, “go to bed and sleep as much as you like, or wander round the grounds, there’s plenty to see in the gardens, or get to know some of the other people who live here. It’s not just monks, you know. There are a few ordinary people, like you.”

“I can sleep?” the boy asked, his eyes already seeming to droop.

“As much as you like,” nodded the Bishop.

“And why are you doing this for me?” asked Gozza, at least aware enough to know that it wasn’t every day that teenagers got to ride with a Bishop like he had.

“Call it me saying I’m sorry for the accident that gave you a headache,” sighed Pyke, “You remember?”

“That was Jed’s fault,” muttered Gozza, “he was showing off.”

“But it was my car and the good news is you didn’t so much as put a little scratch on it,” smiled the Bishop, “now come on, let’s go and find Father Teatrader. That’s the name of the monk in charge and he’s quite looking forward to meeting you.”

Before they could detach themselves from the comfort of the huge car a figure emerged from the shadow, dressed in along black robe and carrying a walking stick for support.

“Ah, here he comes,” smiled the Bishop, and he opened the door. “Good to see you again, father,” he said, “here’s the scallywag we told you about! He might be a bit peckish because we haven’t had much to eat yet.”