Angels in the Architecture (19 page)

Hugh knew he would need to return to this topic with the priest again, as well as
with others in his flock, and further he knew he must need be unequivocal in protecting and defending those who would otherwise be considered unblemished and inculpable.

At the home
of Jacob Yazd, a Jew, Jacob’s wife Martha told what she’d overheard at the market after the events had occurred. At their mealtime, the family delivered up a prayer for the strange young boy. Jacob advised his wife and children not to gossip about this or any other event or villager and that God had his own reasons for the way things were. It was not for any of them to question. He charged each of them with kindness, neighbourliness, and respect towards their fellow man.

The slightly built man pushed a gnawing fear from his mind and put his trust
in God. For generations, and probably centuries he didn’t know of, his family had prevailed against many insults and repressions; he recognised them more and feared them less. He knew it to be the way of things for his people, but he had no wish to arouse concerns among his family, and he would have them become as invisible as possible in the busy little village.

8

Peace is not just the absence of war. Like a cathedral, peace must be constructed patiently and with unshakable faith.

Pope John Paul II (1920–2005)

Monday, 27 April 1981

World’s an interesting place right now it seems
: some amazing things happening. One day we seem to be hanging in the balance, the next poised for major change. The news is always very full these days.

Following a crash by
an Air New Zealand plane into Mount Erebus in Antarctica a couple of years ago, killing everyone on board, there was an inquiry lead by Justice Peter Mahon. His report was released today. The airline had concluded pilot error, but the flight paths were changed without the pilots knowing and then there’d been an extraordinary cover-up. Fabulous quote from Justice Mahon: ‘...
an orchestrated litany of lies.’ Imagine we’ll be hearing that one again. Love it.

Tuesday, 5 May 1981

Bobby Sands
died today following his hunger strike in Her Majesty’s prison The Maze. He had a father and a son. Margaret Thatcher said he was a convicted criminal who chose to take his own life. I wonder how many others will die. I wonder how she sleeps at night. Must require copious medication or else she really is made of iron.

I’ve been trying to take more time to sit and really
study Tim. Really, really look and see all the tiny nuances of his behaviour. Of course he has so many different behaviours, many of which are really indistinguishable from any other kid his age. It’s his sitting and staring and laughing at nothing that draws my attention most. Jillie can make him laugh too and he gets right into that and can’t stop giggling. But that’s ‘normal’, and different from when he’s just laughing when there’s no stimulus to the laughter.

I
had this idea that he was looking at some
thing
; now I realise that’s not what he’s doing. The thing he’s ‘looking’ at is inside his head, and he focuses on it intently. Sometimes he angles his head up as though he’s trying to get a better view of this thing inside him, a bit like if someone asks a question and you cock your head maybe, and look up, trying to find the ideal answer.

But still I feel like he’s engaging with something other than just the ideas or thoughts or images in his own head, something that is ‘beyond’ him. Perhaps there is some connection to the ‘real world’, like a pathway he’s trying to negotiate. I wonder how he sees us
, how he processes what he sees and how he makes sense of things around him –
does
he make sense of them? In years to come, I’m sure – I hope – scientists will fathom the depths of these children’s minds. Perhaps find ways to ‘let them out’.

I don’t think I can go any further with thinking about this. What can I know that I don’t know already?

Wednesday
, 13 May 1981

Alicia was in a shitty liver this evening. I don’t get where she’s at
, and there doesn’t seem to be any way into her head or her thoughts to find out.

She charged out of the house after dinner and came back an hour or so later saying she’d been for a walk, except she took the car, so whatever
.

The Pope
was shot in St Peter’s Square today, by a Turk, Mehmet Ali Ağca, a member of the group
Grey Wolves.
His Holiness is in a serious condition after his intestine was perforated multiple times. He underwent five hours of surgery, apparently losing nearly three quarters of his blood.

Rumours are
of Soviet conspiracy because of the Pontiff’s support for the Polish labour movement
Solidarity.

Friday, 22 May 1981

I s
pent much of the day in the workshop with the mustang. Tim seemed to enjoy pottering around in there too. He got into all sorts of things and got very dirty. Lined lots of things up he’d not lined up before – seemed to enjoy it: nuts and bolts and tools and bits of engine and pieces of wood. He had grease smeared everywhere. It was a pleasure to see. At one point, he handed me a pair of clippers which I took off him and rested on top of the battery. About ten seconds later, I found I needed them. Coincidence of course, but it was the only tool he handed me all day, and the synchronicity was delightful, if only momentary.

Heard on the radio
that Peter Sutcliffe’s been put away for the rest of his days. A lot of people creeped out by it even this far from Yorkshire. Don’t like those ‘outside the courtroom’ reportings on radio and television – too sensational for my liking – but justice served and relief all round.

‘What’s this group of yours all about then?’ Alicia asked. ‘You didn’t really say anything after
you’d been, although I did of course note the hour at which you returned, not to mention the malodorous vapour you breathed on me the next morning.’

‘Ah wel
l, you see, there was this one somewhat lonely old codger who kind of twisted my arm a bit,’ said Pete, thinking it best not to mention Sally’s presence at the pub.

‘Right.’

‘It’s true, he did.’

‘Aha
!’

‘Well
, anyway...’

‘Well
, anyway.’

‘They’re an interesting and I suppose quite sincere group of people – fairly diverse characters – and the format seems fairly loose. They talked about the effects of prayer. This fellow I went to the pub with – Maitland – he’d done a bit of research and said there wasn’t really any evidence of any kind to prove the efficacy of prayer. It was quite interesting.’

Pete and Alicia had located a small tract of calm in their particular combat zone. Pete was enjoying the comradeship with his wife, and for her part Alicia noticed a respite from her usual fury. She’d got up early, evading Pete. Now a few hours later and a little guiltily she’d brought fresh coffee and eggs to the verandah where he was devouring the morning paper. She hoped her kindness, perhaps somewhat feigned, might allow her to further escape to her office in the afternoon.

‘So what do you want from it?’ Alicia asked.

‘The group thing? No idea. Just curious. They seem mostly very smart. There’s nothing happy-clappy about it at all. Didn’t feel like I was being asked to swallow some line of doctrine or anything.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s how they get you though
, isn’t it ... creep up on you.’

‘Don’t be such a cynic.’

‘Well, if I’m a cynic, you’re gullible.’

‘Not my style.’ Pete was relaxed and didn’t mind his wife’s playful baiting.

‘Aha!’

‘Well
, you’re the family scientist. What do you think? Can prayer make a difference?’

‘To what?’

‘To someone’s health, say.’

‘Absolutely
...,’ Alicia replied.

‘Really?’

‘... and definitely not,’ she finished off.

‘Oh
, well, that’s precision for you. Which is it then?’ Pete asked.

‘Both.’

‘You can’t have your eggs and eat them too,’ replied Pete, mopping up yolk with a slice of toast. ‘Nice brekky by the way. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Did I do something to deserve it?’

‘No, not a thing.’

‘Very funny. So?’

‘Okay
look, the thing is I’m not a medical doctor and don’t have any experience in that area, but I’m sure that prayer, or for that matter any kind of positive mental practice, can improve patient outcomes. There are always stories about people who’ve beaten the odds with, as they’ve said, their ability to laugh, or because they refuse to believe anything other than the best possible of all futures. But really that’s not anything to do with prayer per se. Not in my view. I don’t think prayer itself is necessarily going to make a blind bit of difference to anyone. I think there are too many other variables to consider.’

‘So you don’t believe in prayer
?’

‘Well
, like I say, I do and I don’t.’

‘Helpful.’

‘I’m not trying to be helpful ... ’

‘Obviously.’

‘... I’m trying to add my thoughts. Take your plate?’ Alicia thought there was no harm in carrying her good graces a little further.

‘Sure.’

Alicia stacked their two plates and cutlery and wandered through the French doors to the kitchen.

‘I mentioned
those Paris experiments by the way,’ Pete called out after her.

‘What did you say?’

‘Well I’m not sure I get them entirely of course. But it’s just that idea of things having been in contact previously being able to influence each other.’

‘And how was that relevant?’ Alicia returned to the veranda
h.

‘It just seemed like it was. The experiments in prayer were with anonymous people praying for anonymous patients and proved ineffective. So the comment was made, surely if one was praying for a patient one knew, that would be more effective.’

‘Yep. That follows. But again there are so many variables.’

‘But isn’t this the kind of thing
you
want to prove yourself, to know and understand about yourself?’

Alicia stared at her husband. She sat back in her chair with a cup of coffee, blew on it,
and sipped and stared into the cup.

‘Dunno,’ she said softly.

Not being quite sure why, Pete decided he’d leave her with that.

‘Pete! Well, well, well. Thought that little drinking soir
ée of ours must have left you feeling out of sorts.’

Pete turned to
see Maitland beaming along towards him on the footpath just as he was about to turn into Rose and Loraine’s cottage.

‘Oh good heavens,
no. Just warming up!’ Pete replied, pleased to have a familiar face before going in.

‘That’s the spirit! Oh dear, pardon the pun
..’ Maitland laughed. ‘Good to see you again.’

The two men shook hands
.

‘Likewise! After you.’ Pete flagged his arm towards the front door and then followed
behind Maitland who let himself in, calling out a cheery
Hello
down the hallway.

Rose emerged into the other end of the hall, a jovial and welcoming host, and ushered the men through.

It was several weeks since Pete’s last visit to the group and surprised as he was to find himself there again, he was equally content now to be in such easy company. A middle-aged man new to Pete was introduced as Arthur, Loraine’s brother-in-law from Torksey, otherwise the participants were the same as his previous visit.

‘Pete! Nice to see you, to see you
... ?’ Pete couldn’t bring himself to utter the expected
nice
in response to Loraine’s blaring greeting, although he could see she was not really wedded to that particular vulgarity, and he grinned back at her with a jolly
nice to see you too
..

‘Arthur’s been embarrassing me with a few inaccuracies about my extremely intermittent ability to speculate on the future,’ Loraine continued.

‘Really? Can you do that? Maybe you can tell me if Maitland’s going to compel me towards intemperance again this evening, because if he does my wife will be very unhappy about it,’ said Pete, to general amusement.

‘Ah
nothing so precise I’m afraid. I have no control over it. Things just sort of pop into my head. But I’ll let you know if visions of insobriety emerge,’ she said with a chuckle.

‘Like knowing
old Ronald Reagan was going to get shot before it happened,’ Arthur chipped in. ‘That was her most recent prediction. Only the night before the event, it was. I couldn’t believe when I heard it the next day on the car radio coming home.