or demonic.
So I made no attempt to summon Father Darcy but when I had constructed his memory as accurately as possible I tried to imagine his response to my current dread that stress would seriously impair my psychic control, and at once the word DISCIPLINE was firmly imprinted on my mind. Finding my timetable I stood looking at it. Then sitting down at the table I opened my bible, made an intense new effort to concentrate and began to read St Paul’s mighty epistle to the Romans.
X
‘Further to our conversation which was so rudely interrupted,’ said Francis the next day, ‘I’d just like to clarify a couple of points about this unfortunate interview with your son. Presumably you were very distressed after he left. What did you do?’
‘I dashed off a letter of apology to him. Then I forced myself to make my usual appearances in the chapel and in the refectory, but after Compline I retired to my cell again and read Romans. That always calms me. I think of St Augustine and Luther reading it and going on to change the course of history; it makes me feel I’m close enough to draw strength from people of great spiritual power. I didn’t sleep before the night office but by the time I went downstairs to the chapel I knew I was in control of myself again.’
‘And after the office?’
‘Then I admit I had difficulties.’ I paused to drum up the courage to be honest. ‘Once I was faced with the task of sleeping all the symptoms of stress returned. I felt isolated, unhappy … If I’d been a married man I’d have turned to my wife for consolation.’
‘But as you weren’t a married man –’
‘I behaved like an ill-disciplined novice and consoled myself, as I implied earlier, with my wife’s memory.’
‘You mean –’
‘I gave way to temptation, obtained the relief I needed and fell asleep around three. How Father Darcy would have despised such a failure of the will! I shall always remember him saying that the body should be an obedient servant, not a tyrant balking at the most rudimentary discipline.’
‘Personally I always found Father Darcy’s lectures on the power of the will deeply depressing. After his hypnotic persuasiveness had worn off I was left contemplating my weaknesses in despair.’
‘I was certainly depressed when I awoke the next morning at five-thirty – and not just because of the failure of my will. I was depressed because I’d allowed myself to get into such a state that a failure of the will was inevitable, and I was still sitting on the edge of my bed, still well-nigh immobilized by my depression, when the vision began.’
Francis said with great delicacy as if he feared one careless word might shatter this miraculous frankness: ‘When you said just now that you obtained the relief you needed, am I to understand …’ His delicacy was so extreme that he left the sentence unfinished.
I thought I could understand his difficulty. ‘You doubt that a sixty-year-old man who was emotionally worn out and sexually spent at three o’clock in the morning could manifest the symptoms of sexual excitement during a vision less than three hours later.’
‘Not at all,’ said Francis with an urbanity I could not help but admire. ‘It’s a fact that psychics may command unusual reserves of energy, and anyway where sex is concerned anything’s possible, even for sixty-year-old men who ought to be decently exhausted. If I hesitated it wasn’t because I was boggling at your energy reserves but because I was thinking that if you did achieve a complete release earlier it does support your belief that the vision wasn’t triggered by a purely physical frustration … You’re sure you’re not slipping in a little inexactitude to help me along?’
‘I hope I’m now beyond the stage of deliberately misleading you.’
‘Then I shall merely conclude the interview by asking you to reflect further on the fact that Martin plunged you into a severe emotional disturbance. The question you should ask yourself, I think, is not: “Was this emotional disturbance the direct cause of my vision?” Of course you’re determined to believe that question can only be answered in the negative. So perhaps it would be more profitable if you asked yourself instead: “Exactly why was I so disturbed by Martin’s disclosure? What did it mean to me on the profoundest psychological level?” You might also ask yourself if there was any hidden significance in the fact that you later began to dwell with a great intensity on the memories of your marriage. For example, when you were manipulating those memories in a certain way were you merely seeking a release from tension, or were you perhaps expressing a desire to recapture a time when you were leading such an active sexual life that your wife was annually pregnant?’
I stared at him. ‘Are you implying that subconsciously I felt so disappointed in Martin that I was smitten with the urge to go out into the world and beget a son to replace him?’
‘You find that an unlikely explanation of your vision?’
‘I find it ludicrous!’
Francis twirled his glasses. I was reminded of an angry cat swishing his tail.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said at once. ‘That was disrespectful. But I must insist that Martin’s still my much-loved son and I’ve never – never – felt so dissatisfied with him that I’ve longed for a replacement.’
Francis twirled his glasses again and swept open my file. It took him some seconds to reach the passage he had in mind but eventually he found it and paused to look at me. ‘I’d like to read you an extract from Father Darcy’s report on the Whitby affair,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find that it’s remarkably pertinent to our present conversation.’ And clearing his throat he read in a studiedly neutral tone: ‘“Jonathan then became very distressed. He said: ‘I suddenly saw myself as a layman would see me – a pathetic middle-aged monk, starved of women, deprived of a normal masculine life, who was crying, actually crying over a cat.’ Then Jonathan said: ‘Suddenly I hated my life as a monk, hated it – I wanted to chuck it all up and fuck every woman in sight. I thought: here I am, still only fifty years old and feeling no more than forty; I could be out in the world with a young second wife; I could have another daughter, a daughter who wasn’t forever reminding me of Betty – and best of all I could have another son, a son who wasn’t an actor, a son I could talk to, a son who wouldn’t constantly torment me with anxiety. What am I doing here?’ said Jonathan. ‘Why am I living this impossibly difficult life?’ And I said: ‘You’re here because you’re called to be here. You’re here because God requires you to serve him in this hard difficult way. You’re here because if you weren’t here your personality would disintegrate beneath the burden of your weaknesses. You’re here because it’s the only way you can survive.’ Then he broke down and cried: ‘But how do I bear it?’ and I answered: ‘Think of the novices who have so recently been entrusted to your care. Think of others, not yourself, and you’ll find not only liberation from the dark side of your soul but fulfilment of your ability to do great good and live in harmony with your true self.’ After that I made him kneel down and I laid my hands on his head and at last the demonic spirit of doubt departed and he was healed.”’
Francis closed the file. Then still using his most neutral voice he said: ‘And there you have it all: the emotional disturbance, the profound difficulty with your celibacy, the desire to leave the Order and beget a second family – and finally the healing by the one man who was able to keep you on the spiritual rails, the man who’s no longer here to give you the help you so obviously need.’ He allowed a long silence to develop before adding casually: ‘Tomorrow’s
