The Order Brother Zachariah had learned the canticle when he was of tender years. Now, as he sat beneath the apple tree in the abbey orchard, he chanted the familiar words over and over. They were a mantra that guided his days and a prayer that gave peace to his nights. He was calm of mind as he watch apple blossom drift to the ground as it danced through shafts of sunlight like butterfly wings, and the warm summer air made him drowsy. In two hours the round of evening rituals would begin, until then his time was his own—a time to praise God in any way he chose. His parents had dedicated him to the saint of this abbey when he was but four years old and had given him over to the Lord Abbot so that he would be educated in the ways of the True Religion. Zachariah had never seen or heard from his parents again. From what he remembered of twenty years ago they were simple people who always struggled to survive. At the time they had left him he had been upset for days, he hated them for their cruelty in giving him away. His endless screaming and crying had so upset the Claustral Prior that he had instructed a monk to gag Zachariah and tie his hands behind his back so that he could not remove the gag. Remembering that time, as he sat here in the orchard, he realised how right it was that his parents had given him to the church, they had no way to support him and provide for his needs, no way to educate him. Here he was well fed, educated in the ways of reading and writing, and would spend his life following the highest calling any man could have. As he softly chanted the words of the canticle, their meaning still largely a mystery to him, the rhythmic pattern of repetition soothed him, and dulled his senses until he slept. He dreamed of the monastery and life with the sixty brothers who lived here—that was his life, his experience, the only world he could dream about. He was awakened by a heavy kick against his thigh. As he opened his eyes he saw the scarlet chasuble of Father Cain flapping lightly in the breeze. “Is this how you choose to serve God, Brother Zachariah?” The voice of the Claustral Prior boomed down at him. “I wasn’t asleep Father, honestly I wasn’t. I was praising Him with my eyes closed against distractions.” Zachariah’s face flushed as soon as the lie was uttered. “You were snoring, Brother Zachariah, snoring. This is a most serious infraction. What do you have to say for yourself?” “I’m sorry, Father.” “This calls for a severe punishment. You will speak to your Dean before this evening’s service, I will tell him what your punishment is to be, I cannot bring myself to address you again this day.” Father Cain walked away. When he had gone a few yards he turned and looked at Brother Zachariah. Just as he had expected, the young monk was on his knees and appeared to be fervently praying. ******** When he visited Brother Abraham, his Dean, Zachariah was told what his punishment for laxity in the faith was to be. He was to singlehandedly clean the floor of the worship house after the solstice service that evening. Normally this work was undertaken by a team of a dozen brothers and was completed in thirty minutes. On his own it would take him until the early hours of the morning. “Father Cain will inspect your work before Matins tomorrow. If he finds it to be unsatisfactory, you will clean the floor again tomorrow night. Do you understand?” “Yes, Brother Abraham,” was all Zachariah could say as he realised he’d be lucky to sleep that night. Preparations were still being made outside the worship house, so it wasn’t quite time for the solstice service; nonetheless, a few brothers had wandered in and were sitting dutifully reading their scriptures. Outside, Zachariah knew, would be an old motor car. It would be rusting, it’s windows would be broken, but that didn’t matter. Mechanics of the Order had selected the vehicle from the thousands abandoned in the area near the monastery known as Fords’ Graveyard, and will have laboured hard to make sure the engine was working well enough for the solstice service Zachariah pulled his own book from beneath his robe and stroked its worn leather binding. This was another sin that Father Cain would punish severely if he saw any of his monks doing it, he called it venerating the material, when all veneration should be reserved for God. Quickly opening the book at a random place, Zachariah began read familiar words. ******** 23. During the months that followed, Vaughan and I spent many hours driving along the express highways on the northern perimeter of the airport. 24. On the calm summer evenings these fast boulevards became a zone of nightmare collisions. 25. Listening to the police broadcasts on Vaughans radio, we moved from one accident to the next. 26. Often we stopped under arc-lights that flared over the sites of major collisions, watching while firemen and police engineers worked with acetylene torches and lifting tackle to free unconscious wives trapped beside their dead husbands, or waited as a passing doctor fumbled with a dying man pinned below an inverted truck. 27. Sometimes Vaughan was pulled back by the other spectators, and fought for his cameras with the ambulance attendants. 28. Above all, Vaughan waited for head-on collisions with the concrete pillars of the motorway overpasses, the melancholy conjunction formed by a crushed vehicle. . . ******** As the rest of the brothers filed into the worship house and took their seats, the wide, end doors of the building were rolled open. Billowing clouds of exhaust fumes rose from the car, and inwardly Zachariah gave thanks to God for this spectacle that never ceased to amaze him. During meals there was much talk among the brothers about how low the Order’s supply of ritual fuel was getting, but villagers arrived with new supplies from time. They were well aware that if they found motor fuel and kept it for themselves the punishment was death. When the Claustral Prior and Deans had entered and taken their seats, there were a few moments of silence while all present listened reverently to the purr of the car’s engine and the screams of the ritual offerings, a gift from a nearby village, trapped inside by doors welded shut. Standing at his lectern Father Cain delivered a brief homily on the necessity of never forgetting the duty of all men to constantly worship and praise God. Some lines of scripture were read in unison, amens were said. Then the Claustral Prior made the sign of the wheel and moved his hands to the controls on his lectern. Purr changed to roar as the metal of the car strained against the chain holding it back. When the button to release the chain was finally pushed, the vehicle roared forward at high speed, entered the worship house and flashed past the monks, who rose to their feet for a better view of the offerings as they sped to their deaths against the reinforced wall at the far end of the building. Walls shook and the whole building vibrated with the impact. Fragments of metal flew everywhere within the safe zone, dust settled slowly. There was too little fuel left for any risk of fire, calculating the exact amount to use had become a very exact discipline. Soon, blood was flowing among the debris. “Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” The Father Cain shouted, sweat dripping from his forehead due to the excitement and emotion of the moment. All the monks joined in, even Zachariah, whose might of work would now begin. “Deliver the meat to the village, their need is great.” In this new age the Church sanctioned the eating of the flesh of offerings, doctrinally they had ceased to be human the moment they were selected. ******** After a supper of bread and broth and celebratory solstice ale, Zachariah returned to the worship house. His brothers had removed the bodies of the offerings, the wrecked vehicle was almost cool, and he would be expected to remove all that remained of the car except the axles and engines, they would be removed tomorrow. On the floor the coagulating blood was sticky, where it mingled with dust it was hardening. He found a tooth. It had belonged to someone like him, another human being. He’d doubted before, the Church’s doctrine was hard, it didn’t allow for tears or prayers for offerings—but now the night was his and he could err.
Posted on: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 16:23:31 +0000
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