Breaking The Silence

A short story written for the, 'Whodunit', contest.

A portly, balding figure wearing a fluorescent yellow tracksuit breathed heavily as he waddled through the monastery gardens. It was glaringly apparent, to any casual observer, that jogging was new to him and that he needed a lot of practice.

He came to a halt on the gravel pathway between the rows of half grown vegetables; leaning forward, hands on thighs, to properly catch his breath. As he did so he scanned the habit cloaked men that tended the area, his comb-over strands of hair falling onto his hanging face and revealing his hairless pate. After a minute or so in this undignified gait, he stood straight again. He then pulled a woollen hat over his head and continued the way he had been heading until he came to the end of the growing section of the garden. There he saw a lone monk, probably in his mid 20’s he surmised, who was stood some way from the others. He used a long hoe to soften the earth between the emerging cabbages,

‘Morning mate’, the man in the tracksuit offered; his broad Yorkshire tongue booming deep from his throat. The monk nodded politely and continued to work unabated.

The man stood still once more, took in a deep breath and stretched his arms upwards. His shadow loomed long behind him in the morning sunlight.

‘This is the life innit?’ he commented, to which the monk smiled.

‘My names Harley’, he said as he pulled his elbows up to his ribs and twisted his back side to side. He grimaced, without pain, as he felt the familiar cracking sensation at his spine,

‘Oh! Ya bugger!’

He sighed again, then walked toward the monk. Looking down at the growing yield, he said,

‘Those cabbages are coming on well lad…they’ll be proper beauties by autumn’

The monk smiled without looking from his work.

‘It’s okay mate…I know you’ve taken a vow of silence and can’t answer me. I’m not offended or owt. I don’t mind at all actually. My wife does all the talking in our house so it’s nice to get a word in edge wise! Ha ha ha. Ere- you don’t mind if I hang round a bit d’ya lad?’

The monk shrugged and turned his mouth down in a none committal way.

‘Cheers our kid. I appreciate that. I like to get out the house as much as I can like. That’s why I took up jogging. Been nowt to do since I were made redundant and the wife drives me crazy with her soaps and documentaries’

Harley appraised the rising sun and inhaled the cool summer air leisurely,

‘Aye! I like to be out and about lad’

A brief silence resumed while the monk hit the ground repeatedly- moving gradually away from Harley with each blow.

‘So…is this what you lot do all day?’ Harley asked, allowing barely five seconds respite to the young monk.

The monk smiled broadly at hearing this and shrugged once again. Harley laughed at the gesture and said,

‘I expect you crush grapes for wine in your bare feet and pray a lot too’

The monk shook his head in bemusement,

‘No? is that just the Scottish lot then? They make buckfast wine in their monasteries you know?’

Harley let the assertion hang in the air as he looked dreamily to the horizon,

‘I don’t know how you live like this. No women, no beer- a communal living, asceticism- isolation from society. It must be like being in prison is it?’

The monk sighed and smiled grimly to the earth. He looked up at Harley helplessly and nodded his head.

‘Is the monastery all inclusive though mate? Do you get free digs and food, stuff like that, in exchange for your work?’

The monk nodded, turning his back as he did so to tend another part of the garden. Harley stood still for the several seconds it took the young monk to arrive at the carrots two rows away. Harley smiled and followed.

‘It’s really peaceful up here though lad. Do you think I’m too old to join up?’

The monk met Harley’s optimistic tone with yet another smile and shrug,

‘Who knows’ his expression suggested.

‘Might be better than being part of the mainstream’, Harley considered then continued ruefully,

‘There’s no jobs to be had, the health service and education’s substandard and law and orders gone to pot anawl’

The monk shifted uncomfortably at this outburst. He clearly wanted to be left alone, but the man in the tracksuit seemed not to notice. Apparently  the notion of ‘appropriate proximity’ was an alien concept to him.

‘Never mind though eh? Worse things happen at sea. It can’t be so bad that I’d devote my life to God like you eh lad?’ Harley chortled

‘You wouldn’t have the slightest idea what I’m talking about with being stuck out here. Not a care in the world eh?’

Harley sighed in further consideration of the matter,

‘Aye…it’s alright for some’, he concluded

The monk had dropped his gardening tool and was looking directly at Harley. There was a hint of menace in his glare,

‘You alright lad?’ Harley asked, noticing the monks attention was on him.

The monk seemed to snap out of a daydream and he bent to retrieve the fallen tool.

Harley smiled as he looked on calmly,

‘So lad…are you from the Cistercian order then?’

The monk nodded ‘yes’ and  forced the hoe into the ground impatiently.

‘Thought so like…there’s only really you lot and some of the Cistercian reformists, ‘the Trappists’, who still take vows of silence, but I expect you know that. I know a bit about history and religion- the wife even bought me a book on St Benedict last Christmas. Very interesting’

The monk looked at Harley and made a face to show that he was impressed,

‘Would you like to borrow it lad? I can bring it up with me tomorrow? Will you be here in the morning?’

The monk shook his head apologetically,

‘Is that ‘no’ you don’t want to borrow the book- or ‘no’ you won’t be here? It’s hard to tell lad’

The monk, red in the face with exasperation, dropped the hoe once again. He stepped across the green plumes of carrot heads and beckoned Harley to move toward him. Harley complied with a questioning expression on his face. The monk whispered into Harley’s ear and said in a cockney accent,

‘Listen to me you fat northern c**t. I’ve been involved in s**t you wouldn’t believe and I’ve had my fill of your bullshit ‘mate’. Now f**k off home to your wife before she ends up  having to bury you’

The monk stepped back and walked back to where the hoe lay. Harley shouted to the younger man,

‘You’re a bit short tempered for a monk aren’t you lad? I was only being friendly like. I just wanted to warn you that there’s someone on the run around here. He shot a copper last night. It’s been on the news and everything, but you lot don’t watch telly do you?’

The monk stood still at hearing this,

‘Really?’ he said softly

‘Aye lad, but they reckon he’s a bit daft in’t head- a danger to the public like’

Harley bent down and picked something up from amongst the bed on which he was stood, talking all the while,

‘They say he’s from London too. Only a young lad…gone off the rails though. Thinks he’s a gangster or summat or other. Sounds like an idiot to me though. Best be careful eh?’

In one fluid movement the monk pulled something free from below his habit, span around and pointed the gun he now held at Harley,

The words ‘You thick Yorkshire b*****d…’ were on his lips, but were never uttered as the half house brick struck him in the temple. He fell amongst the carrot patch unconscious, blood dripping from the fresh wound on his head.

Several monks immediately stopped their work and ran toward Harley. They issued a series of yells for him to stop attacking the fallen man. Harley pulled his identification from his tracksuit pocket, held it high and shouted,

‘Police! I’m arresting this man on suspicion of murder. The head friar called me’

The arriving monks gathered around the fallen man as Harley took the gun from his hand.

‘Does anyone recognise this man?’

Each monk in turn shook their head.

Harley nodded and pulled his mobile phone free from his trouser pocket. He dialled a number and waited for the answer.

‘Suspect apprehended at Mount St Bernard abbey…send someone quick though eh? I won’t have the stamina to outrun him of he wakes up’

Reviews

[snapstache]

Fantastic!
I don't read a lot of stories here because most of them aren't good, but this was amazing.
You really have a talent in writing.
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