Absolute Truths (25 page)

‘
I trust you left your alter ego behind,’ said Jon
as
soon as he
opened the door of his cottage.

‘
I believe he’s finally faded away out of sheer exhaustion.’

Crossing the threshold I almost collided with the cat who was
heading in the opposite direction; striped fur hurtled past my
ankles and disappeared outside. Jon produced tea. We sat down
together at the table by the window. He was wearing a spotless
clerical suit, carefully pressed, and looked, I was sure, very much
smarter than I did. He had once told me that old age should be
no excuse for scruffiness.

‘
Forgive me for ordering you over here,’ he was saying, ‘but I could no longer bear the thought of that glittering image ruling
the roost at the South Canonry.’

‘It was a relief to be ordered around for once.’

We drank some tea in silence. Jon made no effort to rush me
into speech, but I managed to say before the silence became too
prolonged: ‘It was a good funeral, wasn’t it?’

‘Very fitting.’

‘
It was kind of you to
come.’

Not at all.’

Conversation ceased again. I was unable to strike anything which
sounded like the right note. Mutely I sat at the table and waited
to be rescued.

‘
What else has been going on?’ said Jon, taking pity on me at
last.

‘
I’m not sure. It’s all a bit of a blur. Nigel’s running the diocese
for me.’

‘Ah.’

‘
The major problems have all been temporarily frozen. Desmond
Wilton’s out of hospital and spending a convalescent holiday at
Allington Court. Malcolm had to tell him I’d found the pornogra
phy – Desmond might have had a heart attack if he’d found it had vanished from his wardrobe – but Malcolm said we’d sort out that
problem later and that his first task now was to get well. Meanwhile
that itinerant exorcist has grabbed the job of locum; it really did
seem the easiest way out of the Langley Bottom dilemma, although
of course I can’t possibly allow him to work permanently in the
diocese. And as for the Cathedral ... well, Nigel’s tackled Aysgarth
about the plundering of the library but Aysgarth obstinately refuses
to discuss the matter with anyone but me. However, he’s sus
pended the Christie’s transaction, so at least the books are safe for
the time being.’

‘
Good. But Charles, I don’t want to hear about the activities of
your archdeacon and your suffragan. I don’t even want to know,
fascinating though it may be, about the latest move made by your
itinerant exorcist. I want to know what’s been happening to you.’

‘Well, of course it’s been a harrowing time, but one can hardly
expect the aftermath of one’s wife’s death to be a picnic. The good
news is that Michael brought Holly, his new girlfriend, to the
funeral and she’s a great improvement on Dinkie even though she’s at present sharing a flat with that dangerous girl Marina
Markhampton. Thank God Charley keeps himself aloof from that
set – and talking of Charley, there’s more good news because he’s
going to make his Lent retreat with the Fordites at Grantchester
and I’m sure Father Wilcox will sort out this pseudo-call to the
cloister.’

‘
Splendid. Now Charles, I can see you’re trying hard to have an
honest conversation with me so I shan’t be cross with you, but I
really think you ought to do better than this. How’s your life of
prayer? When did you last receive the sacrament? Apart from the
funeral, have you been able to face going to church?’

I drank my tea and stared down at the grain of the table as I
tried to frame a sentence which was truthful but not too shaming
for a bishop to utter.

‘
Sorry,’ said Jon at last. ‘My fault. Too many questions. Let’s
j
ust choose one: have you been able to face going to church?’

‘
I went to weekday matins a couple of times and I went to the
early service last Sunday.’ I forced myself to add: ‘I felt I had to
keep up appearances.’

‘
I see. So it was the glittering image who went to church. Has
he also been doing your praying for you?’

‘
No. I haven’t really been able to pray at all.’

‘
I’d rather hear that than hear your alter ego has been going
through the motions. Are you at least able to read your theology?’

‘
I can’t even read a newspaper.’

‘Had any whisky lately?’

‘
Not a drop. I did have a soupçon of brandy last night, but I
felt I’d earned it for enduring the funeral.’

‘What exactly is a soupçon?’

‘
A smidgin.’ We laughed. Then I said, ‘A double. But I shan’t
do that again.’

‘What makes you so certain?’

‘
I was reacting to something which won’t recur – and I’m not
just talking about the funeral. I had the most nauseous letter from
Aysgarth.’

‘What was wrong with it?’

‘Everything.’

‘
How curious! I’ve heard that Aysgarth has a considerable talent
for letter-writing. Did you bring the letter with you?’

‘No, I burnt it.’

‘
Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say! Are you going to
tell me more or does it defy your powers of description?’

‘
He dragged up that incident in 1945 when he pawed Lyle and
she boxed his ears – he talked as if there was a hatchet to be buried.
Oh, the whole thing was the most revolting exercise in bad taste!
No wonder I was tempted to knock back the brandy.’

‘
How will you answer him?’

‘
I’ll just pen a line saying the entire incident’s long since been
forgiven and forgotten. I can’t think why on earth he chose to bring
it up. Anyone would think they’d actually been to bed together.’

There was a pause. Jon looked down at his folded hands.

‘
Well, of course,’ I said, ‘I know they didn’t. But I did always wonder if there was rather more to the incident than Lyle was
willing to admit.’

Jon never moved.

‘
I think there was a moment when she found him sexually attrac
tive,’ I said. ‘That was why she was slow off the mark in fighting
him off, that was why the memory of the incident disturbed her
so much and that was why she hated him — only it wasn’t really
Aysgarth she hated; she was projecting on to him the hatred she
felt for herself for not finding him immediately resistible. It was
all mixed up with that trauma she went through in the 1930s. Her susceptibility would have frightened her and awakened all the bad memories — I understood all that,’ I said, speaking with increasing
speed. ‘I understood that sometimes it was better just to love her
and not ask questions. She didn’t want to be questioned further about that incident with Aysgarth, so I didn’t And rm sure I was
right. It was a question of trust. I trusted that she would never
have gone to bed with him. I trusted that she would never have
betrayed me like that.’

Jon nodded and waited.

‘
And if Aysgarth thinks for one moment,’ said my voice furi
ously, ‘that I’m nursing some unchristian grudge against him for
something I know never happened, he couldn’t be more mistaken
... Did Aysgarth ever talk about this to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘
Did he say ... no, of course you can’t tell me. It would have
been a confidential conversation, but oh God, if only I knew exactly
what happened, if only I knew why Aysgarth obviously felt so
guilty —’

‘
Isn’t his guilt sufficiently explained by the fact that he, a clergy
man, got so drunk that he lost control of himself and made a pass
at another man’s wife?’

‘
I don’t know, I can’t decide, I’m in such a muddle — I just feel
that if only I knew for certain, one way or the other —’

‘
I think you should have faith in Lyle,’ said Jon.

Tears of relief burnt my eyes. I had not wept since Lyle’s death
because I had been too afraid of losing my grip on the fragile
order I had established, but now at last I was able to say in despair:
‘How am I ever going to live without her?’ And leaning forward
on the table I buried my face in my arms.

TWO

‘
The Christian sufferer need not know why the blow was
struck. He wants to discover what God is doing in the face
of it ...’

AUSTIN FARRER

Warden of Keble College, Oxford, 1960-1968

Love Almighty and Ills Unlimited

When I had pulled myself together I managed to say:
‘It
would be
easier to bear if I could
see
meaning in the chaos. It’s meaningless
suffering which
is
unendurable.’

‘
So you said after the war when we were talking of your experi
ences
as a
POW. And I suggested, if you remember, that since
God never wills suffering but works always to redeem it, the per
ception of meaning is an important part of the redemptive process.’

W
ell, I don’t see any meaning here and I can’t imagine such a
disaster being redeemed. Since my life’s been permanently
diminished —’

‘
Your life has been permanently changed. Whether it remains
permanently diminished is up to you. You actually have three
options here. One: you can be passive and give God no help
whatsoever. Two: you can be
active
by putting up a front and
bustling around until you crack up with sheer exhaustion. Or three:
you can be active by being yourself (which is, after all, what God
wants) and trying to re-establish contact with God through prayer
so that you can at least make some attempt to assist in the
redemp
tive
process. The more you align yourself with God, the greater
chance the Holy Spirit has of flowing into this situation and
redeeming it in ways neither of us can at present imagine.’

‘
I hear what you say. I understand what you say. I know intellec
tually that what you say is right. But —’ despair overwhelmed me
again — all I can think at the moment is: why did this have
to happen to me, it’s not fair, I want her back, I didn’t deserve
this, I’ve had enough pain in my life, I’d earned the right to a
happy old age with the woman I love — loved —’ I could not
go on.

‘
Well, don’t just say that to me, Charles! Say it to God! Shout
with rage like the psalmist! Put aside that glittering image and let
God know how the real Charles Ashworth feels! And then in the
s
ilence that follows I think not only that he’ll speak to you but
that you’ll be able to hear him again.’

But all that happened when Jon finished speaking was that
another kind of silence began, the silence of a wet dark morning
in winter, the silence of desolation, the silence of hell.

I covered my face once more with my hands.

Jon stood up and moved his chair around the table so that he
could sit beside me. More time elapsed but at last I said: °Tell me
what to do to get myself into a state where I can pray properly.’

‘
Charles, I don’t have a magic wand to wave and I’m not going
to dictate to you. I’m no longer so spiritually strong-willed and
over-confident as I was when we met in 1937 — or at least I hope
I’m not —’

‘
I want you to dictate to me. I want you to take over, get the
disaster under control, reduce it to order before I go off my head —’

‘
Naturally. How useful that would be! But that’s the magic
wand solution and it doesn’t exist because this is
your
disaster,
your
bereavement,
your
tragedy, and you’re the only person who can
triumph over it — I can’t triumph over it on your behalf and
transmit the triumph to you by some flashy use of psychic power.
Now, let’s try and be practical for a moment. Can you drop every
thing, leave home and come to stay here at the Manor for two
weeks? I fear your most immediate problem is isolation combined
with the apathy which stems from despair.’

‘
Yes, but for the moment I’ve got to stay at the South Canonry.’

‘
Is that because you don’t trust Nigel and Malcolm to hold the
fort?’

‘
No, it’s because ...’ But I found I could not quite put my
reason into words.

‘
Is it possible for you to come here on a daily basis? If you were
to arrive in time for matins and mass in the chapel, for instance,
and leave after evensong –’

‘
Yes, I could manage that.’

‘
But you have to get back to the South Canonry every night?’

‘Yes, it’s because ...’ I hesitated again but finally succeeded in
finding the right words. ‘It’s because I haven’t yet said goodbye
to Lyle.’

Too busy organising the funeral, being the bishop and doing
the done thing?’

‘
Exactly. So what I’ve got to do now
is
say goodbye in my own
time in my own way and to do that I have to be close to her at
night, I need to remember her in the rooms where she lived. It’s
part of the process of grieving.’

‘
It’s certainly part of the process of grieving but it doesn’t seem
to have much to do with saying goodbye. It sounds much more
as if you’re trying to hang on to her.’

I said mulishly: ‘It’s something I have to do. I can come and
see you every day, but at night I have to get back to Starbridge.’

‘
Very well.’

Instantly I was suspicious. ‘You think that’s the wrong decision.

Why? Do you have some sort of premonition of disaster? What
do you think’s going to happen?’

‘
I think that if you try to struggle on alone at the South Canonry at the moment you’ll wind up very unhappy, but that prediction’s
so obvious that it requires no psychic power whatsoever to produce
it. But maybe I’m wrong. Or maybe I’m right but you actually
need to be very unhappy in order to see the correct way forward.

Who knows? I certainly don’t ... Anyway, at least we’ve agreed
that you’ll spend tomorrow here and arrive for matins. Let’s just
take one day at a time.’

In an effort to appease him for my obstinacy I said: ‘I’II make
a new effort to pray. I’ll attend evensong in the Cathedral tonight,
and –’
’Oh nor said Jon at once. ‘You stay away from that Cathedral!’
I stared at him. ‘Why?’

‘
At the moment that’s where you put up a front; that’s where
the glittering image takes control. And besides ... I didn’t care
for the Cathedral’s atmosphere when I attended the funeral. The
whole place needs to be prayed for – and talking of prayer, we
should pray for you before you leave. Or if you feel unable to
pray, perhaps you can at least listen while I say a prayer on your
behalf.’

I asked no more questions but sank to my knees, and when he
had finished praying I was able to say: ‘I feel better now I’ve got a plan of action. Thanks for helping me see my way through the fog.’ And as I remembered his own crippling bereavement some
years earlier, I added: ‘I do realise things could be worse – at least
my grief’s uncomplicated by guilt. Lyle and I had our problems
in the beginning but we couldn’t have been closer or happier at
the end.’

Jon opened the door and picked up the cat who was sitting on
the doorstep. All he said to me was: ‘I’ll look forward to seeing
you in the chapel tomorrow morning.’

‘I’ll be there, I promise,’ I said at once.

But it was a promise I was destined to break.