Mystical Paths (48 page)

CHRISTOPHER BRYANT

Member of the Society of St John the Evangelist 1935-1985

The River Within

‘
And today too, lust and self-expression, and self-expression

as an unthinking ideal, are widespread ...’

MICHAEL RAMSEY

Archbishop of Canterbury 1961-1974

Canterbury Pilgrim

I

‘
I’ll take over the driving again,’ said Lewis as I pulled out of a skid to the accompaniment of screaming tires.

‘No, I’m okay.’

‘But I’m not. I’m sweating blood. Pull over, please.’

We changed places. As Lewis drove off again I said: ‘Sorry. Stupid reaction. Of course the figure in the garden is easily LAplained by saying it was the result of unconscious self-hypnosis.’

‘You think so?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? I so strongly wanted to believe Christian was a monk at Grantchester that I couldn’t accept Father Wilcox’s denial and willed myself to create the figure in the Fordite habit. It was a hallucination caused not by mental illness but by stress.’

‘I agree that your extreme stress, your desire to see Christian and your conviction that he’d become a monk at Grantchester are all of great significance,’ said Lewis. ‘I believe they enabled you to make a wrong identification so positive that even now you’re very reluctant to abandon it. But as I’ve already explained, I don’t believe the appearance was due to self-hypnosis.’

‘Believe what you like,’ I said. ‘The man I saw was Christian – but we know now I couldn’t have seen him. Therefore I was hallucinating.’

‘I quite understand that it may be easier for you at this point to believe that,’ said Lewis, ‘but I now strongly suspect you were seeing not a hallucinatory image (something which didn’t exist on any level of reality) but a psychic event which was taking place on a level of reality not normally accessible to the conscious mind. And the man you saw wasn’t Christian.’

‘You can’t prove that!’

Well, as a matter of fact,’ said Lewis, ‘I can. The man you saw was taller.’

It was fortunate that I was no longer driving. I would have crashed the car. When I could speak I whispered: ‘How the hell do you know?’

The peach-tree. At a distance the crucial branch appears to be just a thin line but it’s actually three or four inches thick. The top of my head came below the branch. The top of your head matched the branch exactly. And the top of the monk’s head was above the branch altogether. You and Christian were the same height. That means it couldn’t have been Christian you saw.’

There was a long silence while I watched the beams of the headlights rake the road ahead as the car continued its journey downhill into the valley. Finally I said: ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Okay.’

The man was Christian and I was hallucinating. You made a mistake when you used the peach-tree to measure my height. Case closed.’

‘Okay.’

Having reached the valley we began to travel through the dark meadows. As we approached the housing estate by the cemetery I said: ‘Nov that the case is closed I’m going to spend tomorrow enjoying myself. Will you behave like a Freudian casebook if I ask Rachel out?’

‘I think you’ll find that even Freudian theory allows a man to feel annoyed if he sees his daughter being exploited.’

‘But I’m not exploiting her! I realise you think my interest in her is pure escapism, but maybe this is one of those occasions when you should say to yourself: I CAN BE WRONG.’

Lewis made a noise which sounded like ‘Arrrgh!’ and halted the car much too abruptly at a red light.

‘Naturally I’d like to proceed with your approval,’ I said, ‘but if you continue to be so unnecessarily obstructive –’

‘Don’t threaten me,’ said Lewis. ‘I don’t want to get tough when you’re in such extreme psychological distress, but it would be quite wrong if I let you get away with behaviour that shouldn’t be tolerated.’

‘
Pm not
in
extreme psychological distress?

‘
Okay,’ said Lewis.

The light turned green. We drove on and within five minutes we had reached the forecourt of the vicarage. The silence which fell as Lewis switched off the engine instantly became uncomfortable.

‘My God!’ I burst out. ‘From the way you carry on, anyone would think I intended to rape her!’

‘Don’t use God’s name in that way, please.’

‘I wish I’d never made that confession to you. If I hadn’t admitted all that sex –’

– I’d still have deduced what was going on. Your confession’s quite irrelevant in this context, Nicholas. You confessed your sins, I gave you absolution and from a spiritual point of view the matter’s closed. What concerns me now is the thought of you embarking on a close relationship, sexual or otherwise, while this case is still open.’

THE CASE IS CLOSED!’

‘Okay.’ He switched off the lights and we both got out. ‘But before you set out on an expedition with Rachel,’ he said, ‘could you take me to Starrington Manor? I think it’s time I met your father.’

‘He doesn’t see strangers.’

We stood facing each other. The light from the porch slanted across his face and made his eyes seem more sunken and shadowed than ever. His expression was unreadable. ‘If you chose,’ he said, ‘you could introduce me.’ ‘But I don’t choose. You’d make him upset.’

‘You think so? But my aim would be to help him. For instance, I might well be able to heal his hands by easing his anxiety.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with his hands that a tube of cortisone ointment can’t cure, and I quite definitely don’t want you to meet him. If you did, you’d wind up telling him that I can’t be a replica any more, and then he’d die.’

‘But my purpose would be to bring not death but new life. For both of you.’

‘You couldn’t do that unless you separated us, but you can’t separate Siamese twins joined at the psyche, it’s too dangerous. My father’s so old, so fragile, and he’d never survive.’

‘Maybe he’d be prepared to take the risk.’

‘But I wouldn’t. I’d rather trust in God. He set this situation up. It’s His will that I should be a replica.’

‘Is it, Nicholas? Is it really? This suppression of your true self in order to be someone else, this turning away from the centre of your God-given personality, this rejection of integration and self-réalisation? Can this really be the will of the God who sent his son into the world to show us not just how to exist but how to fulfil every ounce of our human potential?’

I was aware of the Light trying to enfold me but I remained in darkness. The demon of fear had tied me in such a knot that I was dumb before my exorcist, and in my disabled state I was unable to open up my psyche to that channel of the Spirit. The element of faith was missing. I just couldn’t believe I would survive without my father. I just couldn’t believe I had any choice but to keep him alive as long as possible by doingeverything I could to make him happy. And I just couldn’t believe I could make him happy except by being his replica and living his life for him all over again.

Turning my back on Lewis I walked up to the front door and stood silently, waiting to be let in.

II

I went straight upstairs to the first floor, used the lavatory and shut myself in my room. Half an hour later Lewis tapped on my door and said: ‘I’m setting up the alarm which will warn me if you sleep-walk,’ but I lay motionless on my bed in the dark and said nothing.

The hours passed. All prayer was impossible, even the wordless prayer which took place when I flipped the switch in my head. I did try and flip the switch but it had jammed. Something large and heavy was stifling the mechanism and crushing my psyche. I began to feel increasingly frightened.

I dozed for two hours and woke at six. By the time Lewis disconnected the alarm I was sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the floor.

‘I don’t want to go to mass,’ I said when he looked in on me. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to lie in bed all day with the blinds drawn.

‘That’s all right,’ said Lewis, ‘but why don’t you at least listen while Desmond and I say matins? Following the routine of the Office can rest and refocus your mind.’

I wanted to say no but the word which came out was: ‘Okay.’ I was aware of Lewis’s psyche wrapping itself around mine in order to draw me out of my apathy, and in reflection of this invisible rescue I abandoned the bed to get dressed.

I attended matins. And in the end I stayed on for mass. During the services I had become even more aware of the power of Lewis’s psyche as it pulled me smoothly along in his wake.

Again I found myself breakfasting with him and Father Wilton in the ground-floor dining-room. I ate a corner of burnt bread and passed the meal in silence, but I was not allowed to sink back into apathy. In the hall after the meal Lewis said to me: ‘I hope you’re still planning to take the day off and relax. I now think that’s an excellent idea, and I’m sorry I was so negative about it last night.’

‘Ah,’ I said – not very brightly, but at least I was speaking again after my long silence.

‘In fact,’ said Lewis, ‘I think you should take two or three days off now that the case is closed. Why don’t you stay on here at the vicarage until Rachel goes back to London?’

‘Ah!’ I said, becoming much brighter.

‘I’ve got some calls to make this morning, but I’m sure Rachel would be very happy to keep you company. Of course,’ said Lewis pleasantly, ‘I don’t have to lecture you, do I, about how you should behave with her.’

‘I’ll be Sir Galahad reincarnated!’ I said, now very bright indeed.

‘Then just make sure you keep your eyes fixed on the Holy Grail. Why don’t you shave and smarten yourself up and come up to my flat for coffee? Rachel should have surfaced by this time.’

I ran buoyantly up the stairs to my room.

III

When I entered Lewis’s flat I found Rachel lounging on the sofa with a mug of coffee and a copy of the
Guardian.
Lewis himself, seated at his desk, was in the middle of a telephone call. When he waved his arm towards the kitchen I saw the coffee-jug on the counter.

‘Hi!’ said Rachel, mindful of the phone conversation and speaking in a low voice. She was wearing a shiny white dressing-gown over scarlet pyjamas. No slippers. Her naked feet were exquisitely narrow. I was aware of a vague urge to fondle her toes. Odd. I’d never before thought of myself as afoot fetishist. I wondered what it meant, and at once longed to look up foot fetishism in the medical dictionary.

‘Hi!’ I said, noting the return of my passion for rational analysis and realising that I was very, very much better. Having helped myself to coffee I sat down beside her on the sofa but conversation was still restricted by the phone call. Lewis was talking to someone called Annette who I soon deduced was a social worker; they were discussing the case of an old age pensioner who was trying to starve herself to death.

‘Want some of the
Guardian?
’
whispered Rachel.

‘No thanks. Doing anything this morning?’

‘Just planning tonight’s five-star menu. Daddy’s graciously informed me that he intends to be in.’

‘So do I. I’ve been invited to stay till you leave.’ _

‘Good God, what’s the old bear playing at?’

‘I think he’s realised he’s been behaving like a Freudian casebook and he’s making an effort to shape up.’

At that point Lewis replaced the receiver. ‘I’ve got to call straight away on this old lady in Jubilee Walk,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘Nicholas, I suggest you take your coffee downstairs to Desmond’s domain and then Rachel can join you there when she’s dressed.’

‘Sure,’ I said, leaping smartly to my feet to show him how keen I was to play Sir Galahad. Obviously I couldn’t be left alone with a bunch of naked toes.

‘Shall I wear my chastity-belt?’ said Rachel to her father. ‘Or will a whalebone corset be sufficient?’

‘You can wear anything so long as it’s not your birthday suit. I shall be coming back here after I’ve made this call, and when I return –’

– you’ll find us behaving immaculately downstairs,’ I said. We’ll be like two characters from
Barchester Towers.
’

‘
Oh yes?’ said Lewis, very bland. ‘I seem to remember that in
Barchester Towers
there was a very fast young adventuress and a very shady young clergyman.’

We indignantly denied any resemblance to Madeline Neroni and Mr Slope. There was much laughter. We were all getting on wonderfully well.

‘I shall say no more, Nicholas,’ said Lewis as we parted downstairs in the hall, ‘but remember the Holy Grail.’

He left. I wandered into the dining-room and sat down at the table to finish my coffee. Five minutes later the housekeeper departed to do Father Wilton’s shopping and barely had the front door closed when the telephone began to ring. I went out into the hall. On the board both rectangles were in the OUT column. I was just eyeing the extension and wondering if I should pick up the receiver when the ringing stopped, and seconds later Rachel called from the top landing: ‘Nicholas, it’s for you!’

‘I’ll take it down here!’ I shouted back. Naturally I assumed I was about to be bombarded by one of the Community with more advice to return home without delay, and having grabbed the receiver I said very curtly into the mouthpiece: ‘Hullo?’

‘Hullo, Nick,’ said Perry Palmer.

IV

For a second my brain went blank. Then it began to tick over smoothly with increasing speed. ‘Perry!’ I said. ‘How are you?’

‘Better. You and Lewis evidently galvanised me into something that resembles sanity.’

‘I’m afraid Lewis is out at the moment, but if you want to leave a message -’

‘No, it was you I wanted to talk to. I rang Starrington Manor and someone there gave me this number - which I now see is the number on Lewis’s card. Look, can we meet? I didn’t tell you the whole truth last night, not in front of a stranger - although don’t misunderstand, I liked Lewis, nice chap, no limp wrists, sensible sort of fellow, but after all I didn’t know him from Adam, did I, and as a general rule it’s better not to spill every bean in the bag to someone who’s just materialised on one’s doorstep, as it were, in a puff of smoke.’

‘I understand.’ I was trying to keep my voice casual. ‘Do you want me to come back to Albany?’

‘My dear chap, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to trek all the way to London just because I’d expressed a wish to see you! Now that I’m no longer climbing the walls I think a trip to the country would do me good, but I’m rather thrown by the news that you’re not at Starrington Manor. Is there any chance you could meet me there?’

‘Yes, of course. Come to the house and -’

‘Well, as a matter of fact I don’t think I’m quite strong enough to face that religious gang your father sponsors, so I was wondering if we could meet in the grounds. Venetia told me once that there’s a nice little chapel tucked away in a wood, and it occurred to me that it would be the ideal place for us to meet and talk. How would I find my way there from the main gates?’

‘Forget the main gates. When you leave the village, follow the wall of the grounds for about a mile and you’ll come to a door which opens directly on to the path leading to the chapel.’

Will the door be unlocked or will I have to wait for you to come and let me in?’

‘It’s always unlocked during the day because it’s the quickest way of getting to my father’s cottage.’

‘Oh God, I’d forgotten your father -’

‘No, it’s all right, we won’t disturb him because he won’t see us. He’s in bed, temporarily a little under the weather. What time shall we meet?’

‘Noon?’

‘Fine. I’ll be there,’ I said, and hung up.

‘Anything wrong?’ said Rachel, who had sped down the stairs to join me. ‘You look as if you’re about to pass out.’ All I said was: ‘Do you want to help me trap a murderer?’