Absolute Truths (44 page)

Once more I was astounded. ‘How on earth did you find out
about the
prayer-group?’

‘
I had a little chat with Mrs Lindsay during one of my visits to
her vicarage to keep the Archdeacon well buttered.’

‘
But who told you the Cathedral needs to be prayed for?’

‘
No one. But I only had to cross the threshold to realise that
the whole place was steeped in bad vibes ... Ah, I hear the younger
generation approaching, but don’t worry, the young are always so
absorbed in themselves that they seldom notice if anyone over
thirty looks more beaten up by life than usual. We’ll start talking
about nothing. Did you ever hear the story of the Fordites’ cat
who was raised from the dead?’

‘
I don’t think so,’ I said, clutching my glass and wondering what
Charley would think when he saw me. Despite Hall’s remarks
about the younger generation’s poor powers of observation I
thought Charley could hardly fail to notice that I had taken off
my collar to smoke and had resorted to drinking spirits. I never
normally did either at dinner-parties.

Meanwhile Hall had embarked on his story and adopted the
cosy tone of the raconteur. ‘... and I never did succeed in dis
covering the name of the monk who played the charismatic crook,’

I heard him conclude regretfully. ‘The whole story was one of
the Fordites’ state secrets, and if Francis Ingram hadn’t become
garrulous one night after an extra glass of claret — ah, there you
are, Rachel! Danced yourself to a standstill?’

‘
We’re panting with thirst,’ announced Charley before Rachel could reply, ‘and we’ve arrived for a drink. Heavens above, Dad,
what’s this? Smoking a cigarette — drinking spirits — aren’t you
rather letting your hair down?’

‘
Isn’t it splendid?’ said Hall at once. ‘The human face of the
episcopacy!’ And to his daughter he added: ‘Drink up, my love,
and then we must go.’

When I was standing by the open front door five minutes later
I said to him: ‘I’ll be in touch with you about St Paul’s.’
I saw him hesitate, glancing past me to Charley and Rachel who were already standing in the drive beside his Volkswagen. Satisfied
that they were too busy talking to listen to another conversation
he thanked me and added: ‘Yowl go back to Father Darrow
as
soon
as
possible?’

‘Of course. I’m not a complete fool.’

‘Forgive me, I —’

‘
There’s no need to apologise.’

We parted. The red tail-lights of the Volkswagen vanished
beyond the gateposts. Moving abruptly away from the threshold
I returned to the drawing-room, and in order to face my final bout
of pastoral care from Charley that day I mixed myself a second
brandy-and-soda.

As soon as Charley joined me he said concerned: ‘Are you all
right?’

No, but it doesn’t matter,’ I said, trying to imply as tactfully
as
possible that I was not in the mood to be cross-questioned, and added in an attempt to change the subject: ‘What did you think
of that girl?’

Charley’s expression of concern at once changed to one of lofty
indifference. ‘Very young and unformed!’ he said grandly. ‘A nice
child who would have been more at ease in a gym-slip.’

‘
She seemed to like you.’

‘
Oh, I hardly think so!’ exclaimed Charley, much alarmed by the
possibility that an obtainable girl might find him attractive.

I find it hard to describe what happened next. I can only say
that I felt
as
if a part of my mind had snapped under pressure, and
it was the part of my mind which controlled my behaviour towards Charley. I had never before realised this part existed. I only became
aware of the separate control-system when it finally ceased to
function.

Having drained my glass of brandy-and-soda I swung round so
suddenly on Charley that he jumped.

‘
You fool!’ I shouted with a passion which shocked me just as
much as it shocked him. ‘You’re wasting your youth —
wasting
it
— because you’ve got it into your head that being priggish makes
you a good Christian! How are you ever going to be a mature
priest unless you know what love is all about? How
can
you be a
mature priest when you persist in treating women
as a
source of
danger and contamination? God knows, I had to be chaste too
when I was your age, but at least I knew what I was missing and
at least I was moving heaven and earth to find a girl to marry!
You’re not moving heaven and earth
to
get anything except a prize
for arrested development!’

Charley looked both stunned and appalled. I saw the colour
drain from his face.

‘
For God’s sake,’ I said, ‘go out into the world and
live —
and
when I say live I
mean love, because
ifs love that matters, it’s love
that’s at the heart of Christianity, it’s love that’s the absolute truth
of all absolute truths, not fear, repression and self-hatred!’

Charley was more appalled than ever. ‘But Dad, you’re talking
like Bishop Robinson — you’re regurgitating all that rubbish he
wrote in
Honest to God —
you’re talking like all those liberal-radicals
you despise!’

‘
Well, why not? Aren’t we all groping after truth, all of us in
our different ways? And if we all begin to sound alike, doesn’t that mean the truth is getting closer and all its facets are finally becom
ing one?’

‘
But what about morality? What about all the dangers of fornica
tion and adultery? What about all the rules one has to follow in
order to live decently?’

‘
Slavishly sticking to the letter of the law can result in a distortion
of justice. "The letter killeth,"‘ I said, "but the Spirit giveth life."‘

‘
But we’ve got to have moral laws!’

‘
I’m not saying that we shouldn’t. I’m merely pointing out that
if you get too obsessed by the laws you wind up worshipping
them — and that’s not only idolatry but the destruction of the very
things that the laws are trying to preserve!’

‘
But Dad, what does all this mean in practice? Are you saying
I should run out and jump into bed with someone? Are you saying
that
Michael’s got it right after all?’

‘
No, Charley,’ I said, removing the stopper from the decanter
and pouring myself a measure of neat brandy, ‘I’m not saying
Michael’s got it right after all.’

‘
Thank goodness for that! You had me worried for a moment,
but obviously you’re all churned up and unable to express yourself
clearly. By the way, talking of Michael —’

‘I don’t want to talk of Michael.’

‘
But I really ought to tell you that I’m seriously concerned about
him. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to say this, and now
that the subject of fornication’s come up —’

I took a large mouthful of brandy.

‘
— this is obviously the
time
to inform you that Michael’s carry
ing on with two women at once again — which wouldn’t matter
so much if they were just tarts like Dinkie, but Holly’s a nice girl,
even though she shares a flat with that frightful Marina Markhampton, and I just think it’s the height of immorality to show
the keenest interest in a nice girl while simultaneously messing
around with yet another slut — who’s called Nadia, I heard about
her the other day from —’

I heard myself say in a polite voice: ‘Be quiet.’ I was keeping
my gaze fixed on the silver salver which stood on the sideboard.
I was particularly fond of that salver. I had won it long ago in a
golf tournament despite intense competition.

‘
Okay, I won’t say any more now when you’re all churned up,
but I do think Michael’s behaviour is very, very sordid.’

‘
Not half so sordid
as
your disgusting compulsion to play the
sneak!’

‘
But Dad —’

‘
Shut up!’ I shouted, finally losing all control over myself. ‘Shut
up, you bloody
little
bastard,
shut
up!’ And I slammed my empty
glass down upon the salver.

There followed a long silence during which I leaned against the sideboard and squeezed my eyes shut as I struggled to regain my
self-control. When I finally looked around I saw Charley had gone.
So silently had he crept away that I was almost tempted to think the entire disastrous scene had been a hallucination, but I knew
he had been there.

Horror hit me. Sanity slunk back, cringing like a loyal servant
who had turned traitor and lived to regret it. I rushed into the
hall.

‘
Charley!’ I yelled, demented with remorse, and although there
was no reply I saw the light was on in the kitchen.

I found him seated, crying quietly, at the table. Blundering
against it in my haste to reach him, I sank down in the chair by
his side.

‘
I didn’t mean that,’ said my voice. ‘I swear I didn’t mean what
I said, didn’t mean it —’ But he barely heard me.

‘
If you don’t like the way I am,’ he said, tears still streaming
down his face, ‘you’ve only yourself to blame. After all, I’ve always
tried to be just like you.’

Then indeed I was utterly silenced, shocked beyond measure,
for now I saw not Charley, not even Samson, but myself, in the
cold hard glare of truth.

I said: ‘I’ve gone very wrong somewhere.’ But I found I was unable to explore this statement. I could only say helplessly: ‘Forgive me,’
and as I spoke I remembered how Jon had said ‘Forgive’ on the
night of Lyle’s death. I remembered too how I had thought this
response was typical of a hermit who lived apart from the world
and did not have to battle away against sinners as I did. Yet now
I
was
the one in need of forgiveness.

‘
It wasn’t your fault,’ said Charley. Finding a handkerchief at
last he blew his nose and wiped his eyes. ‘It was my fault for
making you so angry. I’m sorry I’m a disappointment to you. I
worry so much about letting you down and not being the kind of
reward a hero like you deserves.’

Utter horror enveloped me but I fought it off. Being horrified
was an unpardonable self-indulgence in such circumstances and no
use to Charley at all. Summoning every ounce of my strength I said
very firmly in the clearest possible voice: ‘Charley, your mission in
life is not to be a cardboard figure labelled CHARLES ASH-WORTH’S REWARD. Your mission in life is to serve God by
becoming the man he designed you to be.’

There was a silence. I allowed it to lengthen but Charley, staring
down at the table, did not reply.

At last I said: ‘And you’re not a disappointment to me. I’m
convinced you have the potential to be a first
-class
priest and I’m
very proud of you.’

Another baffling silence ensued.

‘Charley?’

He roused himself. ‘Yes?’

‘Do you hear what I’m saying?’

‘
Yes, but we won’t talk about it any more, it makes you too
upset. Let’s draw a veil over this entire conversation and pretend
it never happened.’

Now I was the one who was unable to speak. I was appalled by
my complete failure to communicate with him.

‘
I feel so guilty that I made you so upset,’ he was saying in a
rush, ‘and now I just want to do all I can to make it up to you.
Look, why don’t you
come
to London with me tomorrow — why
don’t you take a day off and get right away from the diocese? I
promise I’ll give you the most wonderful time!’

‘
How very kind.’ I was still so shattered that I hardly knew what
I was saying.

‘
Oh Dad, don’t say no! You’d really enjoy the sermon I’m going
to give at matins — it’s modelled on one of your Bampton lectures,
the one about Athanasius. I talk about the importance of standing
up for one’s beliefs even if they happen to be deeply unfashionable
— and then I tic this theme in with the 1930s and the task of
opposing Hitler — and then I go on to the 1960s ..

I ceased to listen. I was seeing more clearly than ever that
although he had heard my words earlier they had held no meaning
for him. He was still trying to cast himself in my image, still trying
to be Charles Ashworth’s reward, as if there was no other course
he dared to take.

.. and then afterwards I can give you lunch at the flat, and
then after that —’

‘
Charley, I’d love to come, of course I would, but —’

‘
I know you want to see Father Darrow, but surely he can wait
till Monday! If you could only hear my sermon, you’d feel so
pleased and proud —’

I gave in. Of course I gave in. I felt too guilty about my
loss
of
control, too driven by the compulsion to make him happy, to do
anything else. I consoled myself by thinking that since I had waited
so long to see Jon, waiting another day would hardly make any
difference to my spiritual health.

But I was wrong.