Island of Wings (29 page)

‘You are right. But there is no need to worry, I was just about to address the matter!' There was a strange light in his dark eyes and she was suddenly afraid.

‘They need food and warmth, Neil, not words and prayers. That will not ease their suffering. They need some basic comforts before they can listen to your sermons.'

Suffering! What did she know of it? And what did
they
know of it? None of them could know what true suffering was like. Only he knew. Oh yes, he knew! ‘Watch your blasphemous words, Elizabeth!' The broken spell of her Christian name, so rarely used, rang through the room like shattered glass. ‘It is in their power to save themselves if they turn to the Lord!'

What could she say? She did not have his faith, but nor could she meekly leave it at that. Her heart was suddenly cold and serene. ‘If nothing else, you must think of our own children, of your sons and daughters. They would be better off in a place where they could get proper food and schooling. Perhaps we ought to send them over to my relatives on the mainland when the next boat arrives . . . ?' She broke off. The thought had just occurred to her but she felt a great discomfort at uttering it. She was losing her balance, and her grip hardened on the door frame.

The man who was her husband turned away from her in silence to look out of the window. He had a vague smile on his face as he continued to ignore her. Lizzie, her face ashen, let go of the lintel and turned to go. MacKenzie, in a tone that was calm, said to her back, ‘Who are you to speak of the welfare of our children, you who let our firstborn die?' She swayed but steadied herself and did not turn as she walked away from him.

That autumn the Holy Ghost was poured into the hearts of the St Kildans like molten lead. The prayers which had at first been forced down their throats were coming back up in an overwhelming flood of piety and emotion.

It began in September when most of the men were away on the islands fowling and the kirk was attended mainly by women. On such a day MacKenzie decided to describe the dangers to which they were exposed because of their temptations. At great length he expounded on the theme of evil, and when the fear of God had taken a hold in their bosoms he turned to outlining the greatness and nature of the love of Christ. He explained, in considerable detail, about the sufferings of Christ – their duration, their intensity and above all the glorious end for which they were endured: to save sinners. He urged and beseeched his parishioners to come to Him for safety and protection as there could be no other salvation.

He preached from Luke, chapter twelve, and concluded by talking about what must be done to bring forth the Holy Ghost:

It is quite certain that every man, woman and child on this island might be converted now if God, the sovereign judge of all, would only send out His Spirit. God alone has this power, and I, your humble preacher, your books and catechisms will not be of any use to you now. You must open your hearts to the injection of God because only then will the Holy Spirit be abundantly poured forth. You must each of you throw out your books and rely upon and honour the Spirit! Let us meet and pray, and if God doth not hear us, it will be the first time He has broken His promise. But if the Lord does bless us, all the ends of the earth shall fear Him. And then, just before the sun is turned into darkness and the moon is turned into blood, the Spirit of God will be poured out upon all your flesh. O Lord, lift up Thyself because of Thine enemies; pluck Thy right hand out of Thy bosom, O Lord our God, for Christ's sake, Amen!

When he had finished the minister staggered and slumped against the pulpit. His face was pale and sweat was pouring down his forehead as he looked out over the congregation. At that precise moment, after so many years of struggle, the Lord showed his power and the St Kildans believed. Oh how they believed! Feeble and starved women and the few men present wept and cried aloud in agony and distress. The minister, when he recovered, could hardly make himself heard and proposed a psalm to calm the congregation, but the precentor was overcome with extreme feeling and could not sing so the minister had to lead the song himself. Only a few sobbing voices joined in. He continued to sing until the excited feelings subsided a little, at which he grabbed hold of the pulpit and, as they all thirsted for more, resumed the preaching.

The meetings continued throughout the winter. Every other night somebody new was penetrated by the Spirit. Even the most hard-hearted would suddenly start breathing quicker. Their hands would be raised above their heads, reaching into the air as if they were drowning. Some of the afflicted would cry out and faint, others would fall to the floor and twist in the dust, others again would scream vehemently: ‘O, my overwhelming burden! . . . My sins! . . . Relieve me of my woe! . . . Have mercy on my soul!' In the end some would sit up and cry out in a superhuman voice: ‘I have found Him! . . . I know that He will pardon my sins!' One or two would beg the Lord to take them home at once so that they would not sin again. At the end of such a meeting, the kirk looked more like a battleground than a sanctuary.

The minister was utterly exhausted. His body and mind were working as one during those long winter months. He preached almost every night. Sometimes he would go home for supper and a quick prayer for guidance before he felt compelled to go back into the church and preach again. His migraines became ever more frequent and he hardly saw his family. Mrs MacKenzie refused to let the children take part in the meetings and would only visit the kirk on the Sabbath.

As the birds returned and food was once again available the evangelism amongst the St Kildans became much less intense. The minister was greatly alarmed when he realised that the hearts of some of the St Kildans had remained hard and that they had only been imitating their neighbours in the winter excitement. He feared that some of them might be mocking him behind his back, and the arrogance of such blatant refusal of the righteousness of the Son of God infuriated him. However, he was well aware by now of the deceitfulness of the human heart and the power of Satan over feeble minds.

And at the same time he was able to rejoice at the progress of some of the islanders. Old sins were freely confessed; sometimes crimes that had been buried for over forty years were brought to the light and atoned for. Indeed some of the natives were so keen to air their guilty conscience and profess their hatred of all evil that the minister had to set up a surgery to receive them during the day. Envy, cunning, theft, uncleanness, Sabbath-breaking (including singing of profane songs), laziness and general loitering, excessive talking and chattering, swearing and irritability were some of the sins noted and carefully recorded in the minister's black book. That summer, instead of gossiping about each other and their daily toil or bragging about the deeds and wonders of the ancestors, the St Kildans would be overheard discussing the state of their souls. They would frequently be seen, in the fields or on the rocks, to fall to their knees to utter a prayer. Holy conversation was conducted behind walls, in
cleit
s, out of the wind and in the shadow of an outcrop.

That summer of 1842 the taxman brought a thick bunch of letters for MacKenzie. Their stamps bore the marks of the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge and of other Church dignitaries in Edinburgh and Glasgow. It seemed that the ten-year conflict within the Church of Scotland was coming to a head. The Evangelical Party formed in 1834 was now strong in the Assembly and its followers called for reform of the ancient system whereby the laird selected the minister for his parishes. The evangelicalists wanted community elders and the parishioners to have the right to reject a minister nominated by a patron. The ministers were being asked to choose between staying within the established Church or walking out with the evangelicalists to form a new Church. This would mean leaving the churches and the manses behind to preach in chapels, barns and village halls and live amongst the parishioners.

When MacKenzie had finished reading the letters he went to bed with a fever that roared at night and simmered gently during the day. His gaze was slow and his limbs were slack. At times, when he thought no one noticed, he cried. It went on for weeks.

She felt the spirit around him going hot and humid and it frightened her. She had avoided him for so long – had she hated him? Now as his weakness finally showed it frightened her. Desperate, she got into bed beside him, her body forming a perfect S around his, and she folded her arm protectively over his chest. Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, as if forced to, she gently stroked the body of the man she had loved. Her health pulled out his sickness and her strength drew out his weakness. She remembered the young man she loved all those years ago: the man whom her young self adored; the firm body that would arouse her; the eyes that aspired to know her. How she loved him then; she would follow him anywhere. He seemed to walk ahead of her, opening all the doors and letting in the light. She had followed him here, to this life. Did I follow the man or the love? she asked herself as she rubbed his damp limbs.

Now she stroked his sagging muscles and coarse skin, hot and humid. For all the old love she stroked it – wanting it to go cool and dry again. The body she had once loved. His grey hair. Remembering the strong thighs and the narrow hips.

He is turned towards the wall, a child again, needing somebody to love him. He is confused. Oh his despairing mind, the agony! Who was it that loved him well? He is too weak; he loses the thought; he cannot remember.

She breathes into his hot neck. She blows cool breath just where his dark hair meets the skin. In that soft place where youth lingers, where tenderness can still exist.

He dreams of birds. Of wings and noise and air. White wings batting the air. The noise! Island of wings. He hears a curlew's call. Or is it a man laughing? And then another dream; somebody is pulling him underwater.

She watches the thin lines around his closed eyes, the blue veins on his eyelids that will not rest. She puts her lips to his temples to still the pulse and the demons who pump it.

Her smell fills his nostrils. She is in the bed next to him. Her arm is slung across his chest and one naked breast is pasted to his damp skin. He tries to pull away, embarrassed. Has she noticed that his body is sagging? That the hair on his body is grey? How much does she know? How much of his failure . . . of his betrayal?

Once she puts her hand between his legs to cup his testicles and hold his slack penis. With gentle hands she cradles it as if it was a fledgling fallen from its nest.

And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became as it were great drops of blood falling down upon the ground.

Is he bleeding or is the damp on his pillow just sweat. He has dreamed again of a monster, a dusk-born devil. He is alone in the bed and the room is cold.

He was suddenly awake and knew that he had to make a decision. In his last letter the Rev. John MacDonald had explained the ­situ­ation to him clearly and in all its brutality. Ever since Lord Brougham's declaration against the evangelicalists in the House of Lords in 1839, the evangelicalists within the Presbyterian Church had realised that they would have to break away from the established Church. A date had been set for this historical event; the General Assembly in Edinburgh on 18th May, 1843. MacDonald knew he had the elders on his side, and he reckoned that almost two-fifths of the ministers would walk out with him and leave the moderates to remain under the domination of the state. MacKenzie knew all too well what this meant. The ministers who left the established Church would also have to leave the manses and the kirks. In his own case it would mean moving his family into one of the dwellings in the
clachan
and preaching in the darkness of the sooty hovels of his congregation. The alternative was to give in to the lairds and the establishment, thus betraying his calling and everything he had achieved on Hirta. He would disappoint his mentors as well as his flock. The thought was unbearable. The elders on the island had grown strong through his instruction – they were sure to join the Free Church.

Perhaps his work on Hirta was finished? The past two years had been very difficult and his labour had told heavily, both on his health and his mental vigour. He had endowed the St Kildans with thoughts that made them human in the face of God. Many of them had passed from darkness into light, from being servants of Satan to being sons of God. Might he not be more useful elsewhere? And besides, he needed a time of mental rest and refreshment. He had always thought the laird kind and generous and had no wish to oppose him.

He had prayed for guidance. ‘I can trust God to show me what will be most for His glory,' he said to himself, and the remark gave him some strength.

He got out of bed and threw a blanket over his shoulders. The house was quiet but he could hear the voices of children somewhere outside; they reminded him of the reassuring bells of cattle in the hills of his own childhood. Baby Patrick must be asleep, the last of his children to slumber in the cot with the carved sprigs of juniper. Quietly, so as not to disturb the blessed silence, he opened the door to the parlour. The light from the window was even and bleak, barely strong enough to distinguish shadow from darkness. She was squatting on the floor, going through a drawer. There were some old letters on the floor next to her and a silver and amethyst brooch which he thought he recognised. Her head was bent, and the light that fell through the window seemed to stroke her neck and wrap it in silk. Her breasts were large inside the badly fitting dress which made her look slightly absurd, ugly even. Looking at her he felt lost and betrayed. She had lost her firm body and there was something dusty about her. Had he brought her to this? He tried to remember her as she had been when they were first married – but it was impossible. But still he knew; he knew that she had been beautiful and that he had been able to love. That she alone had made it possible for him to love.