Goddess Ch. 04

Father Anselmo's domain was a large room where every space available on three of the walls was lined with overflowing bookcases while the fourth was occupied by a massive compacting filing monstruosity. There was a desk covered with papers and files, two armchairs and a small coffee table. As he motioned me to one of the armchairs Father Anselmo said 'Wayne didn't tell me that you were waiting to see the bishop until five minutes ago. Every day that passes by he is getting more obnoxious. Being the bishop's protegee Wayne wants to do whatever pleases him and I'm not prepared to see a son of Sodom ruling this household.' Despite my recent exposure to the ways of the world I didn't understand what was going on and naively asked 'What do you mean? ' Father Anselmo left out a sigh sounding like a mix of frustration and resignation and said, 'Wayne is the bishop's lover. But, tell me father, what have brought you here today?' I hesitated and the knock on the door gave me some breathing space. Wayne walked in with a tray holding two cups, a teapot, two porcelain cups, a glass jar with milk and a plate with biscuits. He put it all on the small table and left, without one word being exchanged. As the door closed behind him Father Anselmo poured the tea and offered me a cup. The smell of the tea reached me and I looked at the steam raising from its surface.

I started talking, telling Father Anselmo of my turmoil, my doubts and contradictions. He listened attentively, never interrupting me. My feelings, converted into words kept pouring out of me in an unstoppable flood. When I halted my barrage I felt drained but more alert than I had been all morning. Talking to Father Anselmo had helped me soothe my anxiety enough to allow me to think. Father Anselmo finally broke his long silence. 'I don't think that seeing His Eminence will do you any good. I can tell you what he will say, word for word. It is the standard answer the Church has given to many priests before you. They included those who like you succumbed to sex, those who had a crisis of faith and the like: "I'll organise for you a transfer to a parish in Papua New Guinea where you can do God's work and pray for enlightenment." Of course, you could easily replace PNG for Africa, or a village in Bolivia or any other isolated outpost in a forgotten corner of the world. Is that what you would like to do?' I slowly shook my head before answering 'A week ago I would have said, "YES". Even two days ago I would have embraced that alternative with all my heart. Today I'm not sure that that is what I want to do.' Father Anselmo looked at me in my eyes for a few seconds and said 'Take a holiday. I will organise a replacement for your parish. Don't go to any of the religious institutions for your break. I have a friend who has a cabin in the south coast and I'm sure he would not mind you using it. Sometimes he goes fishing there on a weekend, but the place can easily accommodate two.' As he got up from his seat he added 'If you meet him, don't talk about religion. He fought in the Spanish Civil war on the Republican side, so he hates the church.' With a smile of mischief in his eyes he said 'He only likes me because he can speak in Spanish with me.'

Father Anselmo sat behind his desk and dialed a number. 'Buenos días José…Pués coño si no reconoces quién habla debe ser porque no te has lavado las orejas…' He left out a belly laugh and kept going talking in Spanish at a faster rate than a machinegun. Five minutes later he hanged up and with a great deal of affection in his voice he shook his head and said with a smile 'He is a blasphemous rascal!' He took some time to write something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. It had an address, a rough map and a name. 'There is a coach service that goes to Naruma. You will have to walk a good distance to get to my friend's place but it is well worth the effort. On the other side of the road you will see a house with a garden that look out of place in the bush. The woman who lives there will give you the key to the cabin and, if you need them, final directions to get to your destination. José said that there is plenty of fish in the water and enough fishing gear and a rowboat to catch them. You will also find a backpack that you will need to carry your provisions to your cabin from the town. You are welcome to stay for as long as you want.' He opened a drawer on his desk and handed me an envelope saying 'You will need money. There are two hundred dollars in this envelope and if you stay for a longer period I'll try to get you some more. Now go. Pack whatever civilian clothes you have and get to that coach terminal in a hurry. I know that there is one leaving at lunchtime. If you move fast you can catch it.' I felt overwhelmed. Tears welled in my eyes and I could not even talk. I started to say something but Father Anselmo dismissed me with a pat on my shoulder as he moved towards the door. 'Hurry up, you have a coach to catch' were his parting words at the front door.

It didn't take me long to pack. I only had two pairs of jeans that I had used when doing maintenance around the church and three work shirts. Shorts that I used when paying basketball with the local Youth Club and a pair of tennis shoes. I put one of the work shirts on with my only pair of trousers, put in my pocket all my money, which amounted to the royal sum of two hundred and twenty dollars, locked the door and headed for the coach terminal on one side of Central Station.

I got my ticket only a few minutes before the departing time and I went to the waiting area. My travelling companions were a motley crowd of young and very old people. When the coach arrived I decided to sit at the back, hopping to avoid socialising with other passengers. The last person to come on board was a girl wearing a leather jacket and a very short skirt. As the Coach's door closed behind her and we started to move she looked around and, without any hesitation came and sat by my side. I looked through the window at the unappealing dirty façade of a building that would forever remind Australians that they had been born as a colony of the British Empire. A young voice cut trough my reverie. 'My name is Sharon, what's yours?' I turned to encounter a pair of intelligent blue eyes that looked capable of seeing through anything. 'I'm Patrick. Where are you going?' Playfully, she almost glided down the seat, her short skirt moving even higher and said. 'I'm going to Narooma to meet my boyfriend.' She looked barely out of her puberty, which prompted to ask her 'How old are you?' With pride in her voice she said 'I turned sixteen today and I have left my parents for good. I wrote them a note telling them that now they cannot stop me from going to live with Sean. Two years ago my mother discovered Sean and me in my bedroom when I was just finishing taking my clothes off but before we could do anything and all hell broke loose. Since then my parents have watched every move I make and I could not cope with it any more.' Her passion was evident in every word. I asked her 'Tell me, who is Sean?' A big smile lit her face when she started talking about him, warmth oozing from her. 'He is wonderful. He was living in Sydney with my neighbours while he finished his university studies. He is now twenty-seven and living in Narooma. I kept sending him letters for all this time. Unfortunately my parents must have intercepted all of his responses because I never heard from him.' I thought that perhaps Sean was no longer interested in Sharon, but I knew that I could not even insinuate that possibility without her becoming upset and a miserable travelling companion, so I said 'I'm also going to Narooma. I'll be staying in a cabin on the southern side of the inlet for some time, so you and Sean are welcome to visit me at any time.'

The Sydney traffic was atrocious. The coach seamed to move only a few metres and grind to yet another halt. The emotional marathon that I had been running for the last twenty-four hours, combined with insufficient sleep, finally caught up with me and, without even being conscious of it I drifted into a deep, forgiving sleep.

I was dreaming that a hand was shaking my shoulder and a voice was saying 'C'mon Patrick, wake up!' It took a lot to realise that it was not a dream but Sharon trying to make me come back to life. When I opened my eyes I saw the last of the passengers leaving the coach. I rubbed my eyes while Sharon got up and said 'we are in Kiama and we have fifteen minutes to have some tea or coffee.' We came out of the coach and into an old style shop that not only sold drinks and sandwiches, but also doubled up as a news agency and even had an area set up as a haberdashery. We sat down at a table to have a good cup of tea that was just what was needed to wash down the stale sandwich that came with it. We had not even finished our meager meal when the driver started calling us all back on board.

I had never travelled down the south coast from Sydney and neither had Sharon. We were both overwhelmed by scenery that defies the ability of language to describe beauty. The immensity of the sea was insinuating itself to us at every turn of the road, making us feel in awe. It had been an unusually wet weather and the richness of millions of different tones of green was framing the deep navy blue colour of the water. At a time when we were closer to the shore we opened the window and we could smell the salty air loaded with iodine. The air rushing into our faces as the coach moved on felt clean and crisp. I could almost feel it instantly cleansing decades of breathing inner city air.

Engrossed on the ever-changing landscape the miles slept by, unnoticed and soon we were stopping at Batemas Bay. An hour and a half later we had arrived to Narooma. Sharon and I bade each other good bye and I started my journey towards the cabin where I would begin to draw a new chart for my life.

It took me an hour of walking at a good pace to get to the house described by Father Anselmo. In the mist of almost virgin, primeval bush stood this large house, surrounded by a manicured garden where trees and flowers were planted in full agreement with the laws of symmetry. As I walked up the concrete driveway I could smell roses and jasmines, lilies and violets. There wasn't a gum tree to be seen in the entire property. A large bronze ship bell was hanging on the side of the front door and when I hit it, it's sound engulfed me like a blanket, wrapping itself around me before reaching out to awaken the neighbourhood of birds, kangaroos and the odd cow. Just before I struck the bell again, an old labrador jumped on me while furiously waving its tail, obviously determined to lick me to death. As I was trying to somehow counteract this onslaught of canine affection a woman's voice came to my rescue. 'Killer! Stop that! Down!' The dog reluctantly let go and the owner of the voice came into focus. 'Hello! You must be Patrick. I'm Diane. Don José rang me this morning to let me know that you would be coming today.' She was perhaps in her forties and smelled of cow manure, after probably giving her plants a last feed as night was beginning to fall. She shook my hand with the strength of somebody used to heavy physical work. Before I had a chance to answer she continued 'Give me a second and I'll get the key for you'. She ran inside the house and came out seconds later with a key tied up to a lanyard and a plastic bag with fresh bread and a torch. 'Don José asked me to buy some bread for you. If you need anything just drop by.' I was almost speechless and started saying thanks but she interrupted me. 'Listen, it's nothing. Don José is by now a good friend and this is the least the I can do for you anyway.' She seemed embarrassed by my attempts at showing my gratitude. She walked with me to the other side of the road to show me a narrow track leading towards the water. Pointing at the path, she said 'Don José's cabin is almost a mile down that way. You will pass in front of one other house on your right. The cabin is about half a mile after that, right on the point. Have a nice stay and good fishing.' With my bag and the bread on one hand I put the torch under my arm to shake her hand again. 'Thank you Diane, You don't know how thankful I am for your kindness.' She didn't answer me with words, just waved her other hand in dismissal and pressed mine that little bit harder.

I walked into the darkness, only broken by the short blade of light from the torch. The road followed the coastline and as it curved to the left I could see the lights of the town reflecting on the water on the other side of the inlet. I sensed rather than saw the house on my right. With the moon not yet up it was just a darker area of the sky. I walked faster, anxious to get there. As I was approaching a full moon raised over the hill to reveal the cabin just twenty or thirty yards away. In the soft light it looked like paradise on earth.

I unlocked the door and hesitated for a few seconds before opening it. I could sense that this was not just stepping into another man's house, it was more as stepping out of the known universe and into the deep void of the unknown. I switched the light on and a warm room with light timber paneled walls beckoned me. The cabin was simple, but elegantly set up, with polished timber floors and varnished pine furniture. There was a large room, combining kitchen, dining and living areas, with a large veranda overlooking the water, two bedrooms and a bathroom with a laundry inside it. All available walls in the living area were covered with bookshelves full of books. I started looking at the titles, some of them in Spanish, some in English and yet others in French. I could see an eclectic mind being fed by so many different topics. A philosophy book by Heideger rested alongside an art book on the paintings of Goya followed by a novel by John Fowles. The complete works of Sigmund Freud was preceded by the Kama Sutra and followed by The Story of O, a book on witchcraft and another on the history of wine. There were also books by Kafka and other authors that I had never heard of, like Machado, Federico Garcia Lorca, Gabriel Garcia Marques and the like.

I was exhausted. I found some tined fish and I just ate it with bread. Before I went to bed I prayed for a long time, but I didn't feel the peace that prayers had always brought to me. I could see that I was going through the mechanics of reciting the well-known litany but they did not bring to me the feeling of peace and security that I had always experienced in the past. Camille kept coming into my senses all the time. I knew that she was not there, but I could feel her presence along side me more than the presence of God.

I had a fitful sleep and woke up to see the light of dawn just showing over the low hills that kept the sea out of sight. I jumped out of bed as I had done every day for so many decades, ready to have my breakfast before the first mass of the morning. Today it was different. My religious wardrobe was nowhere near me and, for the first time in my adult life, I was not going to say mass either.

I had my early breakfast of dry bread and black tea sitting on the veranda, seeing the sun rise, from a pink light to it's full blinding glory. The birds started their choir of good morning calls while a sea eagle glided thirty feet over the water in search of its morning feed.

Even though I was feeling like an intruder, I had a closer look around me. I found the backpack and checked the gas bottles outside, finding them bot full. Knowing that I had no routine to adhere to it took me more than half an hour to decide what I was going to do. It was obvious that I had to shop for food, so I donned the backpack and started my long walk to town. There was not a cloud in the sky and the air tasted clean. As I got to the road Diane was already working on her garden. She saw me and greeted me with a wave of her hand. I waived back and she started coming towards the gate. When we were still a fair way away she yelled 'G'day. Do you have hat?' Her question took me by surprise. I shook my head and continued walking towards her. As I approached her she added 'You haven't been to the country before, have you?' I started answering as I got to the gate against which Diane was by now leaning. 'I was born in the country in Ireland but I must say I have not lived out of a city since I was about twelve.' She smiled and said 'It shows! Wait here for a minute and I'll get you a hat. On a day like today you would have your brains cooking if you don't wear one.' She walked fast to the house while Killer tried unsuccessfully to jump over to my side of the fence when I stopped patting his head.

Diane came back with a faded khaki hat that looked like an army surplus item. 'This is no fancy Akubra but it will keep the sun out and you don't need to bring it back. I'll come handy when you go out fishing.' Without giving me the time to thank her she pointed at the backpack and said 'Going shopping?' I nodded my head at the same time as I said 'Thank you Diane. You are too kind.' She dismissed my comment with a wave of her hand and said 'If you need any heavy stuff let me know, and I'll get it for you next time I go to town. Now enjoy your walk!' With this she started back to her garden, just waving to my 'Thank you again!' as she walked. I put the hat on and started walking. I could feel the tingle of the sun on my skin and thought that Diane was right. My brains would have cooked without protection.

As I got my walk to a comfortable rhythm I started to feel happier. It felt strange, I thought. For the first time I started feeling the messages of my body. I felt my foot hitting the dirt road and the little pebbles on the other side of my tennis shoes. I could even feel the air entering my lungs and the blood running through my veins, pushed by the strong beating of my heart.

When I arrived at the bridge over the inlet I had to wait as it was opened to let a sailing boat out. I looked at the man and the woman on board, relaxed while motoring to sea, oblivious of the rest of the world, only concerned with the most elementary task of surviving the elements, rather than trying to work out what is right or wrong in priest's life!

The traffic starting over the bridge brought me back from my reverie and I started my journey once again. I found a small supermarket opposite an ugly caravan park as well as a bakery and a small butcher shop. I was definitely not going to go hungry, even if my success as a fisherman was not all that great. I was coming out of the shops with a full load in my backpack when I saw Sharon, still wearing the same clothes, sitting on her bag on the side of the road, her head buried between her hands, the living image of despair. As I approached her I could see her shaking with her sobs. I sat by her side and putting my hand on her shoulder said 'Remember me, I'm Patrick'. She looked at me and reached out with even more tears welling in her eyes. I cuddled her, my hand caressing her hair and waited. She finally said 'I couldn't find Sean's place last night, and I slept on the park close to the sea. I finally found his home. When I knocked on the door a woman opened it and asked me what I wanted. I said that I wanted to see Sean and she asked me what for. I got a bit pissed off and said that it was none of her business but then…' She started crying again and it took some time for her to start talking again '…then she said that it was her business because she was his wife!' Sharon wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing her make up across her face. 'I left running and I only stopped when I could run no longer.' I got up and offering my hand to her said 'OK while you sort things up you can come to were I'm staying and at least have a shower and a decent meal. Do you feel like walking something like a mile and a half?' She took my hand to stand up, picked up her bag and we started walking in silence.