by outsiders, were the very opposite of (indeed, perhaps the motive for) the government’s manifesto that the country’s neotraditional society should be stoic and detached from corrupting foreign ways—an isolationist message delivered at regular intervals over the airwaves.
To most, however, the political rhetoric was far removed from the daily challenges confronting many foreigners and native-born citizens alike. Life could be tough, and the exhaust valve of the Crane’s terrace on a Saturday afternoon was a welcome relief to plenty of those feeling weighed upon by the rigors of the previous week.
During his stopover at the Crane early one such Saturday afternoon, the table of Petit Bruxelles was joined by a young man introduced to Brother Mike as Philip. Through the course of the exchanges, it became clear that Philip, although previously unknown to Brother Mike, was no newcomer. He worked at the provincial hospital as an eye specialist. Since the monastery’s clinic was not a part of the core public health system, but an adjunct institution, the staff of the larger public program was often unaware of the sectarian facilities, and vice versa.
Brother Mike and Philip seemed to have been born under the same star. They both disclosed they could only take Petit Bruxelles in small doses, that they felt exceptionally blessed to be where they were, doing what they were doing, and that they really didn’t give a damn about the rest of the world. They were truly kindred spirits.
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Brother Mike and Philip continued to meet on the veranda of the Crane most Saturday afternoons, ultimately choosing their own table a safe distance from Petit Bruxelles. Well-chilled beer and heated discussions further cemented their relationship and one day Philip asked Brother Mike if he played poker. Brother Mike loved poker. He loved taking the risks and loved even more winning, which he did frequently. Here was another nail reinforcing their bond.
Philip explained he had hosted a group of four to play poker at least one evening a week. One of the group, a professor of geography at the local university, was retiring and moving back to Belgium. Philip wondered if Brother Mike would like to take his place?
Brother Mike did very much want to join the group. Alas, he immediately foresaw a conflict with his ordinary routine: he had evening prayers every day. He clarified his conundrum to Philip. He would very much like to enter the group, but he had Vespers every evening, a convention he could not break without incurring the wrath of the Abbot.
Philip very much liked Brother Mike and even more, he was curious how he would be as a card player. In their weekly reunions on the veranda, Brother Mike demonstrated an affable camaraderie and open mind. But when they entered into frank and often serious discussions as the beer loosened the spirit, Brother Mike ever so slightly lifted the cover on a much more deliberate and calculating core that seemed to reflect a very strong dose of sangfroid. How would this circumspect personality fair on the combative and, at times, insidious terrain of poker?
Philip thought for a while and came up with a proposal for Brother Mike, “Wednesday afternoon my eye clinic is closed as the space is needed for a program focusing on pregnant and soon-to-deliver mothers. Another member of our group, Karl, is also a professor at the university, an international law specialist. I happen to know he has no academic responsibilities on Wednesday afternoons. Finally, the third member of our group is Antonio. You may know him? He has the small grocery store before you get to the main market. His time is his own and his sons generally take care of the store, so I am sure he too could be free on Wednesdays. So how about it? We could arrange our game for 3:00 p.m. which would give us a good run at the cards and still allow you to get back for prayers.”
Brother Mike was most appreciative. It seemed where there’s a will there really is a way and he really wanted a way to play poker with this man whom he saw as an able adversary as well as potentially a genuine friend. If Philip was as good at cards as he was at organizing a card game, the planned contests could be most interesting.
Brother Mike thanked Philip for his ingenuity and efforts to arrange things such that he could partake of this worthy pastime. They agreed to meet at Philip’s house, not far from the Crane, the next Wednesday.
Brother Mike then took his leave as, exceptionally this Saturday afternoon, he had to attend to some monastic business. A young novitiate, Jean-Baptiste, was being proposed to be assigned to him as a sort of assistant. Given the delicacy of his affairs, he was not sure he could accommodate an assistant without jeopardizing all he had put together over the years. Accordingly, he had agreed with Jean-Baptiste to meet for a drink at a well-known outdoor cabaret on the road to the southern border.
With his religious life of piety and penury, Brother Mike did not own a vehicle himself. However, this curtailment was no obstacle. As the responsible person for the community’s logistics, he had access to the monastery’s motor pool which, to support their assorted tasks, was large if not exhaustive. Consequently, he was assigned a rather aged Toyota pickup that now, with a score of bunches of bananas in the back that he had picked up earlier in the day for the orphanage kitchens, he drove south to his rendezvous with Jean-Baptiste.
He found Jean-Baptiste sitting at a shaded table, enjoying the cooling gusts that began to whirl around the hills in the afternoon, while consuming an equally cool brew. Jean-Baptiste was in his late twenties. Brother Mike knew that he was the son of a major entrepreneur, one of the chief petrol importers into the country. Given the weaknesses in the public school system, Jean-Baptiste’s father saw a life in a religious community as the best means for a good education—something he valued greatly as not having benefited from the same himself. From his early teens, Jean-Baptiste had attended Catholic schools and then migrated into more specialized studies and training with several religious communities, ending up with the Brothers of Piety. There was always a worrisome parallel agenda that, should he lose his enthusiasm, Jean-Baptiste could opt to leave the religious world and return to the world of money, politics, and power that flowed around his father. The various religious community members who were engaged with Jean-Baptiste were always praying that he stays the course and remain a strong proponent of monastic life because, through this moral support, the various communities received considerable financial support from the father, support they feared they would lose if the son left.
To the surprise of many, in spite of his good looks and joie de vivre, from all appearances Jean-Baptiste was leading a devout life, still passionate about his calling and serious about his studies. One unexpected detour had been the revelation that Jean-Baptiste had a talent for sculpture, an art form for which he also seemingly had the necessary fervor to be able to transform thoughts into tangible objects. It was perhaps a bit unfortunate that his father still wanted to micromanage Jean-Baptiste’s ecclesiastic life. Apparently trying to cover all his bases, his father promoted a business orientation to his son’s intellectual growth such that, when the day came, the son would be able to leave his theological pursuits and assume control of the father’s empire. It was in this vein that he had been pushing the Brothers of Piety to get his son more involved in the business side of things and in this way that the son had landed on Brother Mike’s doorstep, unexpected and unwanted.
Brother Mike put on his most congenial smile and sat across from his would-be protégé after giving him a strong embrace and heartfelt wishes for a good Saturday afternoon. He had been planning, as he was wont to do, for some time how he would handle this dilemma. He could not alienate Jean-Baptiste as this might raise some eyebrows at the Abbey and cause far more in-depth looks into his various practices. Yet, he could not afford to have an attendant of any sort—his affairs were his alone and must be overseen by but one person: Brother Mike himself. He had a plan. He had to test the ground to see if it could stand up to the rather complex requirements of the situation. But, as everyone knew, Brother Mike was good at organizing things.
He had considered starting with a “How are you my son?” type of father-son approach, but he quickly sensed this would be to no avail. Strategically, he needed to
