The Bad Book Affair: A Mobile Library Mystery (25 page)

“You know it?”

“Is that the Kierkegaard parable about the…”

“The ducks.”

“Ah, yes, the ducks,” said Israel.

“Who go into church every week, and the preacher duck says to them, ‘You can fly! You can fly!’ and then every week the ducks waddle home, and waddle back to church again the following week.”

“Ah,” said Israel.

“Anyway,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Coffee?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” said Israel.

“Good man! Good man!” said the reverend.

“You’re sure I’m not disturbing you?”

“I need a break,” said the reverend. “There’s only so much biblical Hebrew a man can take in one sitting.”

Having made the coffee, the reverend sat with Israel, the two of them taking up their traditional positions flanking the oven, as though they were sitting around an electric campfire or a dual-fuel burning bush.

“So?” said the reverend, leaning back on his chair. “Social call?”

“Actually,” said Israel, “I wondered if I could talk to you on a sort of…a religious matter.”

“Uh-oh,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Doctrinal? Or more of a pastoral matter?”

“Erm…Not sure. I’m looking for Lyndsay Morris.”

“Ah, yes, the missing girl.”

“That’s right.”

“Lovely girl,” said the Reverend Roberts, stroking his chin.

“You know her?”

“Oh, yes. Maurice Morris’s daughter? She used to come to the church, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She was a very valued member of the young people’s group.”

“She was?”

“Yes,
was
. Past tense. I’m afraid she left.”

“When?” said Israel.

“It was about…six months ago. A lot of the young people left then, unfortunately.”

“Why?”

“Why!” The Reverend Roberts laughed. “To ask the hard question is simple, Israel. It’s a long story.” He spooned more sugar into his coffee.

“I’ve got plenty of time,” said Israel. “And it might help, as part of the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Into Lyndsay’s disappearance. I’m sort of…trying to find her.”

“Aren’t the police trying to find her?”

“Yes, but, I’m…”

“Helping them out?”

“That’s it.”

“Is that wise?” said the Reverend Roberts, pinching his
forehead and making a “that-sounds-very-unwise” sort of a face. “Given your rather troubled history with Tumdrum’s law enforcement officers?”

“Well, it’s…slightly complicated. I need to…Anyway, tell me about Lyndsay.”

“What do you want to know?” said the Reverend Roberts. “It’s not as if I knew her well.”

“Well, erm…” Israel’s interviewing technique required some work. “I’m not sure. Anything you think might be relevant.”

“Everything is relevant, Israel, isn’t it? It just depends on your perspective. Sub specie aeternitatis and all that.”

“Quite,” said Israel, having no idea what “sub specie aeternitatis” might mean or how to spell it.

“Pen?” said the Reverend Roberts, offering Israel a ballpoint from the table.

“Thanks, but…”

“For taking notes, as a part of your investigation?”

“Ah, yes,” said Israel. “Absolutely. Good idea. You wouldn’t have any—”

“Paper?” said the Reverend Roberts, tearing a couple of sheets of A4 from a jotter on the table.

“Super,” said Israel.

“Ready now, detective?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Absolutely.”

The Reverend Roberts drained his coffee cup and started to talk.

“About six months ago we suffered a schism in the church.”

“Sounds painful,” said Israel.

“It was,” said the Reverend Roberts, threading his fingers together, as though in prayer.

“
S-c
—” began Israel.

“
H
,” said the Reverend Roberts. “From the Greek. Meaning disunion. Or division.”

“Right,” said Israel.

“Now, as you doubtless know, Israel, the Protestant church is of course prone to schism: it’s where we’re from.”

“Right,” said Israel, whose knowledge of church history rivaled only his knowledge of local, Irish, British, Jewish, and in fact almost all other history in his premier league of virtual-know-nothingness. They’d done mostly the Nazis at school.

“It’s probably to do with the priesthood of all believers,” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Uh-huh,” agreed Israel, sniffing faux-knowledgeably.

“1 Peter 2:9.”

“I’ll maybe look that up,” said Israel.

“Yes, you do that. Anyway,” said the Reverend Roberts, “as is traditional with schisms, there was a…man in the congregation—and it’s always a man, Israel, I’m afraid—I know of no great female schismatics—”

“Too sensible?” said Israel.

“Well, frankly, why would they bother?” said the Reverend Roberts. “Anyway, this man decided that Tumdrum First Presbyterian was not going in the direction that God intended.”

“Right. And how did he know?”

“Good question,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Some kind of hotline to Jesus? I don’t know. They all have them.”

“Who?”

“Schismatics. Religious fanatics. Fundamentalists. The Good Lord forgot to give me his direct line, alas. We seem to be disconnected.”

“The number you have dialed has not been recognized,” said Israel.

“Ha!” boomed the Reverend Roberts. “Exactly! But anyway, however he knew the Lord’s intentions, our schismatic, he decided to split off from the church.”

“How do you mean, split off?” said Israel.

“He went and set up his own church.”

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“Of course,” said the Reverend Roberts.

“You don’t need permission?”

“No more than you need permission to set up your own hairdressing salon or a sandwich shop.”

“Right.”

“I mean, obviously he doesn’t benefit from the support of the Presbyterian church,” explained the Reverend Roberts, “or have access to any of its resources, but if someone thinks they can survive as a minister and they can draw a congregation, then they’re perfectly entitled to set up whatever church they see fit.”

“Like Jesus?” said Israel.

“Yes,” said the reverend, sounding unconvinced. “Although you have to remember that Jesus had the obvious advantage of being the Son of God.”

“Arguably,” said Israel.

“Arguably indeed,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Many people who set up their own churches do seem to fancy themselves rather as the Messiah.”

“Right,” said Israel. “So…What was it the schismatic didn’t like about your church?”

The Reverend Roberts looked uncomfortable. He fiddled with his coffee cup.

“Well, I should point out first of all, it’s not
my
church as such, Israel: the church is of course the people, the body of believers—”

“Like a synagogue.”

“Well, no,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Not exactly. A synagogue is a
beit tefilah
.”

“Yeah. Right. Which means?”

“House of prayer?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“You know Hebrew?” said Israel.

“A little,” he said.

“That’s more than I know,” said Israel.

“I’m a Christian minister,” said the Reverend Roberts. “I also know Greek.”

“Wow.”

“It’s part of the job. Anyway, a synagogue is also a
beit knesset
—a gathering place. And a
beit midrash
. House of study. The church, on the other hand, is
ekklesia
—”

“Could you spell—”

“It’s probably not relevant, actually, Israel, to your investigation. I’m just showing off here, really.”

“Ah, right. Yes. So. The man who didn’t agree with the rest of the body of believers?”

“Our schismatic, yes. He believed that there had been what’s called a ‘charismatic awakening’ in the church.”

“A what?” said Israel.

“A pouring out of the gifts of the spirit?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Right.”

“Never heard of it?”

“No.”

“The charismata? The nine gifts of the spirit?”

“No. Sorry,” said Israel. “No idea what you’re talking about. You’ve got me there.”

“Words of wisdom?” said the Reverend Roberts, hopelessly. Israel shook his head. “Words of knowledge? Faith? Healing? Miracles? Prophecy?” He was drawing a total blank. “Anyway. Discernment of spirits. Speaking in tongues. Interpretation of tongues. It’s 1 Corinthians 12.”

“Uh-huh,” said Israel. “That’s another one I’ll maybe need to—”

“Yes. Take a note. Look it up,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Yes. It’s basically…spiritual manifestations.”

“What, like in a Pentecostal church?” said Israel.

“Kind of.”

“Wow.” Israel was genuinely impressed. “And what, all these things were happening in your church?”

“Not exactly,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Mr. Burns—”

“The schismatic?”

“Him. Yes. Mr. Burns claimed that these so-called gifts were happening among himself and a few friends, and that I was ‘stifling’—I’m quoting here—
stifling
their expression.”

“Oh.”

“More coffee?”

“No, I’m fine,” said Israel. “So he upped and left?”

“Upped and left,” agreed the Reverend Roberts. “That about covers it.”

The two men stared outside for a moment at the black nothingness of the Reverend Roberts’s back garden.

“It was my own fault, in a sense,” said the Reverend Roberts, sighing deeply. “I should have seen it coming.”

“The schism?”

“Yes. I made the mistake of letting the young people’s group start to incorporate worship dance and flag waving into some of the evening services.”

“Sorry?” said Israel. “Did you say ‘flag waving’?”

“Yes. It’s often the first step.”

“What is?”

“Flag waving,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Sadly.”

“Flag waving?”

“Flag waving, yes. Yes. It’s to do with David and the linen ephod.”

“The linen what-odd?”

“2 Samuel. Look it up.” The Reverend Roberts waved his hands dismissively. “Anyway, it could be anything, to be honest; it’s just a fashion thing, really. It just so happens that this time around it’s flag waving.”

“The waving of flags?”

“Precisely.”

“In the church?”

“Yes. Big banners, really, and sort of…bunting. People dancing with them. A bit like Jewish folk dance.”

“Right. Sounds…unusual.”

“Oh no. Not at all. It’s become a standard part of the
renewal movement within the church. I don’t know exactly why. I suppose people want to express themselves creatively. Praise props, I call them, the flags.”

“I’m sure that goes down well.”

“Yes, you can imagine. Anyway, so Mr. Burns and the charismatic group within the church exerted a big influence over the young people, and so they broke away and…set up on their own.”

“And Lyndsay Morris is one of them?”

“As far as I’m aware, yes.”

“She’s part of this whole charismatic thing?”

“So I believe. She had been a regular attender, but she hasn’t been for a long time now.”

“She’s really into it though, is she? I mean, she’s a Christian and everything?”

“I couldn’t possibly say, Israel. We all stand before our God naked and alone. As it were.”

“But I thought she was a Goth?” said Israel.

“The two things are not mutually exclusive.”

“Really? I sort of thought Goths were a devil-worshipping sort of…people.”

“Ha!” The Reverend Roberts laughed. “It’s more a fashion thing, isn’t it? And who are we to judge fashions? God created us in his likeness, not in your or my image. Genesis 1.”

“Right,” agreed Israel, with a faraway sound in his voice.

“Anyway,” said the Reverend Roberts. “That’s the story of our schism, for what it’s worth.”

Israel slurped the remains of his coffee and glanced at his unreadable scribbled notes.

“Well, that’s very helpful, thank you.”

“Is it?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Good. Well, glad to be of help.”

“Erm. Where do they meet, the charismatic people?”

“They have various meetings. The church is called Kerugma.”

“Kerugma?”

“Yes,” said the Reverend Roberts disdainfully. “From the Greek. Meaning ‘proclamation’ or ‘proclaimer.’”

“Right.”

“The young people attend a group called the Retreat at the community halls. That’s tonight, actually.” The Reverend Roberts glanced at his watch. “Starts in half an hour.”

“Ah. Right. Well, maybe I should…

“Check it out?”

“Exactly.” Israel got up to leave. “And anyway, I should let you get back to doing your sermon—”

“Bloody sermon,” said the Reverend Roberts, glancing at the accusatory commentaries on the table. “But just hold on a minute.” He put a heavy hand on Israel’s shoulder and pushed him back down into his seat.

“What?”

“You’ve been here sitting, listening to me talk about my troubles—”

“Which was very helpful,” said Israel, brandishing his sheet of A4. “For my investigation.”

“That may be,” said the Reverend Roberts. “But tell me, how the devil are you?”

“I’m fine,” said Israel.

“I was worried about you the other evening,” said the Reverend Roberts, leaning back.

“Really, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t seem fine, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Well, it was the…shock, I suppose, of Pearce, and…Anyway, I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure? I know that grief can be a terrible shock.”

“Yes. Well. I went to see the doctor, actually.”

“You did?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Yeah. He gave me a prescription for some SSRIs.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They’re tablets. Like Prozac, apparently.”

“Yes. I know. Not personally. Pastorally, if you like. And you’re going to give them a go?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Israel. “I haven’t picked up the prescription yet, but I think it might make a difference…”

“With what?”

“Well. Just…everything, I suppose. You know, that sort of feeling…”

“I’m not sure I do know exactly which feeling you’re talking about, actually,” said the Reverend Roberts.

“That sort of feeling of not…I don’t know. Failure, I suppose.”