Читать книгу Glamorous Powers - Susan Howatch - Страница 38

‘I’m worried about your weekly confession,’ he said when we met the following evening. ‘Of course you could make one of your bowdlerized confessions to Timothy, but I really feel that would be most unsatisfactory and as I’m reluctant that anyone else in the Order should know about your crisis I find I’ve no alternative but to volunteer my own services as a confessor. I needn’t remind you of your right under the Order’s constitution to decline to make confession to your superior; if you find my suggestion unacceptable I’ll ask Ambrose to hear you, but if you could somehow see your way towards waiving your constitutional right I admit I’d be greatly relieved.’

I could not help but sympathize with him in his predicament. ‘You forget that Father Darcy ordered Aidan to be my confessor after the Whitby affair,’ I said. ‘I’m well used to making my confession to my superior.’

‘Quite. But one of the vows I made to myself when I became Abbot-General was that I wouldn’t ride rough-shod over the monks’ constitutional rights as often as Father Darcy did. However if you’re willing to waive this particular right without being coerced …’

He allowed me time to prepare, and retiring to the chapel I recalled the episodes of pride, anger and falsehood which had punctuated my life that week. Then I returned to his office and the difficult exercise began. I was surprised when it proved easier than I had feared. He kept unexpectedly quiet, refraining from all the obvious comments, and gradually I began to respect his refusal to gloat over me while I was vulnerable. With a certain amusement I wondered if this compassionate behaviour arose not from his desire to be a good priest but from his instinct to act like a gentleman; I could well imagine him deciding that the waiving of my constitutional right was a sporting gesture which demanded that he should be equally sporting in return.

I was granted absolution and assigned a very moderate penance. I thought Father Darcy would have judged this much too soft and perhaps Francis too was afterwards convinced he had erred on the side of leniency, for as soon as we embarked on our final conversation he became waspish.

‘I want to end these talks where we began – with your vision,’ he said abruptly.‘There’s one glaring omission in your account, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what that omission is.’

‘It wasn’t revealed to me what I’m to do when I leave the Order.’

‘If you leave the Order.’

‘If I leave the Order. I’m sorry.’

‘If this vision is from God,’ said Francis, examining a well-manicured fingernail in an elaborate charade of nonchalance, ‘wouldn’t you have expected to receive at least a hint about what you’re supposed to do next?’

Cautiously I said: ‘I believe further enlightenment will be forthcoming.’

‘How wonderfully convenient.’ Francis held his left hand at arm’s length and gave the chosen fingernail another meticulous inspection. Then suddenly he discarded the mask of nonchalance, leant forward purposefully across the desk and said: ‘Now listen to me, Jonathan. You cannot – and I mean cannot – ignore your intellectual faculties in favour of a woolly-minded mysticism when your future has to be considered; you should remember that the best mystics have all been distinguished by their sane practical attitudes to life. As soon as you return to Grantchester pull yourself together, confront the reality of this alleged call of yours and try to visualize what kind of life would be waiting for you outside the Order. You’re a sixty-year-old priest. You’ve been out of circulation for seventeen years. At first you’re inevitably going to find the world confusing, exhausting, depressing and – for the most part – uncaring. Of course we know you can always find work. We know I can always ring up the Archbishop and say: “Oh, by the way, Your Grace, my best abbot’s about to leave the nest – find him a nice little nook in some cosy Cathedral Close, would you?” We know you’re not going to be reduced to eating bread-and-dripping in a sordid lodging-house in between bouts of waiting in the dole-queue, but Jonathan, if you’re going to survive in the world with your equilibrium intact, you absolutely must feel that you’re doing what God’s called you to do. Otherwise you’ll get depressed and fall victim to Monks’ Madness, and we both know what that means, don’t we?’

We did. It was a notorious fact that monks who left the Order often found themselves psychologically compelled to recuperate in the most unfortunate of ways from their years of celibate seclusion.

‘Oh, and while you’re grappling with your possible future in the world,’ said Francis as an afterthought, ‘do ask yourself what you’d do about women. It’s a very important subject and one which must be faced realistically.’

‘I’d remain celibate.’

‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly. I said: “It’s a very important subject – ”’

‘Marriage distracts me from serving God.’

‘In that case you’d better stay in the Order. Oh, go away, Jonathan, before I become really irritable with you, and for goodness’ sake take your brain out of those second-rate mystic mothballs so that you can do some constructive thinking! Nothing annoys me more than to hear a clever man talk like a fool.’

I rose to my feet. ‘Do you wish to see me before I leave tomorrow?’

‘Yes, come here after breakfast so that I can give you my blessing.’

He was so fractious that he made the blessing seem a sinister prospect. Leaving the room I began to count the hours which remained until my departure.