Winter of Grace (15 page)

‘No.'

‘Sure? You seem a bit narky.'

‘I'm not.' There was a pause. I wanted to say,
Stop bossing
me, you're as bad as Mum, telling me what I feel, what I should
think
. But I didn't. ‘Is narky a word?'

‘It should be.' Stella swivelled round to survey the audience. Beneath the buzz of the audience, we could hear muffled chanting from outside the building as the protesters notched up a gear. But at seven o'clock precisely, that faint noise was completely drowned out by a roar of applause as the speakers entered. Stella stuck her fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistled.

‘That's for Lisa,' she yelled in my ear. ‘She looks
cool
.'

Mum walked in: Dr Lisa Vandenberg, young, cool and composed in her trim black suit. I felt a surge of pride and I clapped as hard as I could. I wondered if she could see me. Five seconds later, she'd tamed the storm of applause and cheers simply by standing silently at the podium. She carried an air of quiet authority, which became even more impressive when she began to speak.

Dr Vandenberg – it was hard to think of her as Mum – was calm and reasonable as she laid out the evidence for evolution and the elegant mechanism of natural selection. This was science, she argued, it could be tested and modified. But creation theory was simply an assertion: God made the world and everything in it, end of story. There was no way to prove or disprove it, so, scientifically speaking, it was a meaningless argument.

Everyone clapped fervently as Mum sat down. Stella whispered, ‘Isn't she
great
? Let's see Professor Martinez top that!'

Randall Martinez was a visiting English academic, a tubby balding little figure in a checked jacket, not impressive-looking at all. But once he stepped forward to speak, he was transformed. I couldn't tear my eyes from him. His voice was deep and compelling – a bit like Pastor Matt's, come to think of it.

‘Anyone who believes in creationism is an idiot,' he declared, and a wave of warm supportive laughter rolled through the audience. Up on the platform, Mum was smiling; Stella laughed, sitting forward eagerly, her eyes bright.

‘I'm not saying there is no God.' Professor Martinez strode up and down. ‘I can't prove whether there is or isn't a supernatural being out there – no one can. But I think it's
very unlikely
. A supernatural being who cares what food I eat, or what I do in the privacy of my own bedroom? Please! Are you serious? So, God exists, and what's more, you can read his mind? And this all-powerful, all-knowing entity actually frets about the petty details of our everyday lives?
Really?
'

Stella was laughing; everyone was laughing. Everyone except me.

‘Religious faith, belief in God, has brought humanity nothing but harm. Look at this current war – two ideas of God battling it out over the bodies of young people. It's obscene!

There may have been a stage in the development of the human species when it was necessary to invent supernatural explanations for the baffling phenomena we observed, for the stars and the weather, for birth and death and sickness. I can accept that. But that time is
past
. We have science now; we can discover the
truth
. And that truth is more complicated and more wonderful than any story about the Gods!'

Mum was nodding vigorously.

‘We like to think we've outgrown superstition and belief in magic. Let me tell you, religion is just another brand of mumbo-jumbo. It's exactly the same as believing in witchcraft!
We don't
need religion
. Some people argue that religion has inspired great art, acts of courage and selflessness, the abolition of slavery and so on. Some argue that without God, there is no morality, no idea of right and wrong. But you don't need
God
to make great art or great music! You don't need
God
to tell you slavery is wrong, or murder is wrong, or torture is wrong!'

Professor Martinez paused and gazed up into the audience, directly into my eyes. His voice rose. ‘But you
do
need God to justify hatred and fear – of women, of other tribes, of other ethnicities. You
do
need God to inspire war and terrorism and slavery and slaughter!'

His fist thumped on the podium and a roar of applause erupted. The audience stamped and cheered. Stella whistled.

My head was spinning. I tugged at Stella's sleeve. ‘I need some fresh air,' I yelled in her ear. ‘Back in a minute.'

Stella stared at me.
You okay?
she mouthed.

I nodded, and Stella twisted back to Professor Martinez, who was just getting revved up. I pushed past bags and knees and coats and stumbled up the steps to the back exit. A few other people were leaving too, so I wasn't the only one who felt uncomfortable at the professor's certainties.

Behind me, a muffled explosion of laughter rocked the theatre. I leaned against the white wall of the corridor and gulped the cool air.

‘Bridie?'

My head snapped round. And there was Elliot.

HE WAS WALKING down the corridor toward me. He'd shaved his beard off, which made him look much younger; he looked about the same age as me. He was grinning, and I realised a dumb smile was spreading over my face too.

‘It was really hot in there,' I said.

He nodded. ‘I had to get out. Want to take a walk outside?'

‘Um, sure.' We fell into step, heading for the back of the building, away from the noise of the protesters. Elliot pushed open a heavy glass door and we emerged into a quiet courtyard. I didn't know this part of the uni at all; Mum's department was at the other end of the campus. But if I ended up studying here, I guessed a lot of my classes would be in this old building.

Elliot and I walked silently through the darkened cloisters and out onto a wide expanse of lawn outside the library. Elliot found a bench and I sat beside him.

‘So you were in there too, listening?'

‘Yeah,' said Elliot. ‘Your mum spoke well.'

‘Yeah. She was good.'

Elliot nodded. ‘I wanted to hear Randall Martinez. He's got quite a reputation.'

‘He's an amazing speaker.'

‘He's smart, all right. Funny, too.'

‘But …' I said,

Elliot swung round to gaze intently at me. Even in the almost-dark, the searchlights of his eyes burned into me. ‘But?'

I screwed my face up; I wanted to get this right. ‘I couldn't exactly disagree with anything he said, but it was as though he was ignoring a whole dimension of human existence. I just can't see how, if there really is no God, if there's
nothing
, so many people all through history, in every culture, have a sense of …'

‘A presence?'

‘Yes. The spiritual or the sacred. It's real, it feels real.'

Elliot stared up at the night sky. Here at the edge of the city, there was so much light that hardly any stars were visible, just a murky blanket of dark. ‘Millions of people, all through history, in every culture, have believed in sorcery, too. And that the world was flat. Just because lots of people believe something doesn't make it true.'

‘No, I get that. But doesn't it seem, I dunno, slightly hypocritical to condemn all religious people for being fanatics, when he's just as rigid and intolerant about atheism being right?'

Elliot laughed softly. ‘I came to hear Martinez because I wanted him to convince me. But I think he's pushed me the other way. I don't know what I believe any more. I do know that a lot of
unintelligent
people believe in God. Trust me, I've met them. But it's just not true to say that everyone who believes in God is stupid. There are plenty of wise, thoughtful, intelligent people who are religious, not just Christians. And if there
is
a God, he's everyone's God, right? There are plenty of people in the world who have had an experience of something bigger, something beyond humanity.'

‘And I'm not going to throw that away just because some smart-arse, patronising,
smug
professor tells me to,' I said, with a vehemence that surprised me.

Elliot stretched his legs. ‘It's funny, isn't it? Martinez talks about how arrogant the early believers were, thinking the earth was the centre of the universe. But isn't it just as arrogant to assume that human consciousness is the centre of the universe, that that's all there is?'

‘Science can explain a lot, but it can't explain everything.'

‘I'm not sure I
want
science to explain away courage and music, and imagination and poetry and sacrifice and joy … and love,' Elliot said.

Was he looking at me? ‘I'm not sure I want to boil everything down to – to random chemicals.'

‘There's got to be more to being human.'

‘Maybe he's wrong, maybe human beings do need religion,' I said. ‘When I think back to my life before I believed in God, it seems sort of empty, and pointless, and shallow.' My voice faltered. So I did still believe in God, did I? Maybe Jay was right: He wouldn't let me go. After a second I went on, ‘I mean, I understand what he said about morality, I know we can work out that killing and hurting is wrong without needing a God to spell it out for us.'

‘And a sense of wonder.' Elliot gestured up to the sky, to the stars. ‘He's right; you can get that from looking through a telescope, or down a microscope.'

‘But what does it
mean
?' I cried. ‘What's the
point
?'

Elliot didn't reply, and we sat there in silence for a moment, looking up at the night, at all the hidden, infinite stars.

‘God won't tell you what it all means, Bridie,' Elliot said at last. ‘Nor what it's all for. You have to work that out for yourself. God is … God is like a poem. God just
is
.'

‘God is a poem,' I murmured. ‘I like that.'

Elliot sighed and tucked his legs underneath the bench, so he was leaning forward, his hands shoved in his pockets, his breath a stream of mist. ‘God is the Light,' he said. ‘That's what the Quakers say. Have you heard of the Quakers?'

I shook my head.

‘The Society of Friends is their proper name. Sounds good, doesn't it? They believe the Light of God is inside every person, so all people should be treated equally, and with respect. They don't have priests, or preachers, not formally. At their meetings, everyone sits in silence until someone feels moved to speak.'

‘No singing and dancing?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Are you going to join these Quaker people?'

He looked away. ‘It's not that simple for me, Bridie. Northside is my family, my friends, my home, my whole life. Walking away from all that …' He fell silent.

I couldn't think of anything to say. It was so much easier for me.

‘Jay's out the front with the others, shouting
Martinez burn
in hell
,' Elliot said abruptly.

‘I know. I saw him.'

‘I thought you were planning to be there, too?'

‘That's not what I want from my God,' I said hesitantly.

‘No,' said Elliot. ‘I want a God that opens things out, not narrows them down. Do you know what I mean?'

He turned his scowly-face on me, the first time I'd seen the scowly-face in weeks. It was like a glimpse of the real Elliot, not the bland mask he'd worn at church. I felt a sting of happiness that he'd let me see it.

‘
Yes
,' I said. ‘
That's
what God means to me. That's exactly it. God means there's more to the world, more to my life. He makes everything richer, and more meaningful – not smaller, not
less
.'

‘Yes,' said Elliot. ‘But sometimes it seems like the more we talk about God, the smaller He gets.'

‘Is that why you like the Quakers? For the silence?'

Elliot snorted. ‘Yeah, maybe.'

A silence of our own grew up between us – a comfortable, textured silence. I could have sat there forever, in spite of the cold and the dark. Elliot knew so much more than I did; he'd read more, thought more, talked to more people, explored so much further than I had. But it didn't seem to matter. It felt like we were equals. I felt closer to God in that silence with Elliot than I had for a long time. It was as if the clouds of our breath wreathed around a presence hidden in the dark and made it visible.

Elliot jiggled his knees in the cold. ‘Have you thought about what course you're going to do?'

‘I guess Arts. Maybe English.'

‘You could try Philosophy.' Suddenly he stood up and looked down at me from his great height, hands thrust deep in his pockets. ‘We'd better go back.'

I stood up too. ‘Stella's still inside. We're supposed to meet Mum, afterwards.'

‘It was good talking to you, Bridie. I wish––' ‘I'm sorry,' I said suddenly. ‘I didn't answer your message the other night.'