Becoming (19 page)

The three split and explored the room. Though there were no people something told Gaia the room had been lived in. This was not abandoned, life had warmed it. Gaia moved along the aisle, stroking the benches as she passed. In front of each was a square mat or cushion, each scarlet red and embroidered with a black cross. The colours and material were worn and faded. Books were placed on the shelves that backed each bench in front. There was a red book and a green book. Gaia picked up the green one,
The Book of Hymns
, and opened it. Each page contained a numbered set of words. Gaia wondered what they were, and read the words of one. The hymns had a strange and steady rhythm.

He who would valiant be

He who would valiant be
'gainst all disaster,
let him in constancy
follow the Master.
There's no discouragement
shall make him once relent
his first avowed intent
to be a pilgrim.
Who so beset him round
with dismal stories
do but themselves confound
his strength the more is.
No foes shall stay his might;
though he with giants fight,
he will make good his right
to be a pilgrim.
Since, Lord, thou dost defend
us with thy Spirit,
We know we at the end,
shall life inherit.
Then fancies flee away!
I'll fear not what men say,
I'll labor night and day
to be a pilgrim.

‘To be a pilgrim.’
Gaia reflected on the meaning of the words. They seemed antiquated, an arcane language she had never heard. These were the words of the days before, and of the old ways. Churches were places that housed the old religion, like the ruins of the abbey on the island. They were the buildings where communities gathered to worship a god. He had no name, it was just God. He was the old god, the forbidden god. Gaia read the words again. The rhythm and lyricism fascinated her. They were almost musical, though music was banned now in the community, it had been a part of her early years, the nurturing.

Gaia replaced the book and picked up the red one. The front read -
‘New Revised Standard Version Holy Bible,
’ the final two words in large bold golden letters. Gaia opened it, and the pages fell open on a section named
‘Peter.’
By the side of the words were the numbers ‘2:18.’ The paragraph read -

‘Slaves, submit yourselves to your masters with all respect, not only to those who are good  and considerate, but also to those who are harsh.’

Gaia opened another page, the passage numbered ’28:53’

‘Then because of the dire straits to which you will be reduced when your enemy besieges you, you will eat you own children, the flesh of your sons and daughters whom the Lord has given you.’

Gaia closed the book. Slaves, masters, eating the flesh of your own children. What was this? Was this what the people of the old ways thought? Gaia moved to the table at the front and examined the large silver cross. It was intricate and ornate, and as with the large window that dominated the room there was a figure of a long-haired bearded man. He was semi-naked, wearing only flowing underwear, his arms stretched out. The man’s hands were nailed to the horizontal beams of the cross, and his head bowed, on it he was wearing what looked like a circular head garment made from twigs. The feet were pressed together and nailed to the vertical beam. The man’s eyes were closed, and above his head was a sign with letters. Gaia gazed at the image, mesmerised by the peace and tranquility of the man. He was hanging from a cross, nailed to the beams and yet there was no pain or anguish on his face. On the contrary, he looked serene, not dead, but resigned to his fate, almost welcoming it. 

Gaia heard a noise to her right. There was a door which had opened and a small crack appeared. She could see eyes peering through. They were low down, small, the eyes of a child. The door opened further and there was a little girl with long, messy blonde hair. She was dressed in a rag of a white dress, torn and filthy. The girl clutched a small blanket in her arms, her hand at her face, sucking her thumb. The child was only a few years old, her face filled with a mixture of fear and confusion. Gaia reached out her arm and beckoned the child forward.

‘It’s OK. I won’t hurt you.’

Freya and Aran stopped wandering, and turned to look at the girl, as she inched forward across the carpet, not towards Gaia, but parallel. The child stopped.

‘I’m Gaia. What’s your name?’

There was no response, only bleak, sad eyes peering back at Gaia. The child continued to suck her thumb, clutching the tattered blanket. Gaia could see she was an outsider, and there was something disturbing in the girl’s dark green eyes. They were empty, lifeless, not the playful, joyous eyes of a child.

‘Are you alone?’

Still there was silence. The girl began to sway from side to side, her feet planted on the ground, but swinging her arms. She looked down at her blanket, placing small delicate fingers through the holes of the woolen mesh pattern. Each finger had tiny, grubby nails.

‘Can you tell me your name? I promise we won’t hurt you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

‘Her name is Ruth.’

Gaia turned with a start. In the doorway stood a man, at least seventy years old. He was short and stout in build, his hair white, combed across, a vain attempt to look smart. The man was unshaven, perhaps a few days of growth, dressed in a black suit and grey pullover. There was a thin, white collar around his neck. A huge gold cross on a chain hung from his neck and rested in the centre of a bulging chest. The suit was covered in stains, the edges of the sleeves threadbare and worn. Gaia looked at the man’s eyes. It was instinctive, the badge, the first sign of who you were, and who you were not. The old man was one of them, an outsider. His eyes were brown, the whites cracked and speckled with a deep bloodshot red.

‘What brings you to my church?’

The man’s voice was deep and menacing with a throaty rattle.

‘Sorry, we mean no harm. We need shelter. We were being attacked by rats. They’re still outside. We lost a friend in the attack. My name is Gaia, and these are my friends Aran and Freya.’

Gaia gestured to the others in turn. Freya was alert, hand by her side over the knife, poised for any sudden movement. Freya stood by the main door to the right, listening for the rats. She could still hear the creatures scratching and shrieking. Aran was in the main aisle, holding one of the red books, looking more relaxed, his face softer and more welcoming. This was an old man and a small, young child. Neither posed a threat to the group, unless there were others. Freya was taking no chances, her instinct to mis-trust and be cautious. Freya did not like him, and there was something troubling about the girl. Gaia addressed the man again.

‘Would it be OK if we stayed here a while, maybe only a few hours, just until we’re sure the rats have gone and it’s safe to move on. We won’t impose on you.’

The man’s look was stern, staring at Gaia, then the others. He was wary, but not afraid. Many people had passed through over the years, some far worse than these young people. The man felt protected, the church was a sanctuary. He looked down at Gaia’s belt and saw the axe and knife. The old man frowned.

‘All are welcome in this house. It is the house of our Lord. You may take sanctuary here. Come let us rest and talk. You must be hungered after your travels. I will prepare us some food.’             

Gaia looked at the others and back at the man who gestured to Gaia’s belt.

‘You won’t be needing those. You’ll find no danger here. There are no threats, are there Ruth? We’re a small family, just myself and a few of my children. All of us are God’s children. So come, come, please. Let me introduce you to Ruth’s sisters. I’m Father Ridley by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

The priest stepped forward from the doorway, approaching Gaia with his hand outstretched. Gaia offered hers which the old man gripped and shook. The grip was strong, almost painful. The priest let go and moved towards Ruth, standing beside her and stroking the child’s hair. Gaia noticed the girl flinch as Ridley touched her. The blank eyes fired with life, with fear. The child stood still beside him, while he played with her tousled locks, grinning. Ridley’s teeth were stained yellow and chipped, a small ball of white spit clung to the corner of his lip.

Gaia was hesitant. The priest was old and gracious, but gave her the creeps. Gaia looked back at Aran who raised his eyebrows and cast a gesture of ‘What do you think?’ Freya was frowning and shaking her head. Gaia could see her caution and reluctance. Gaia spoke.

‘Could I have a moment to speak with my friends, please?’             

‘Of course. Take your time. We’ll just be through here. I’ll make us some tea. Come through when you’re ready.’

The priest led Ruth back through the door. Aran and Freya joined Gaia who spoke in a whisper.

‘What do you reckon? We aren’t going anywhere soon, so we’ve not got much choice but to stay.’

Freya looked uneasy, her face cast in stone. Aran spoke.

‘I’m with you Gaia. He’s an old bloke with some kids. What’s he going to do? We stay here a few hours, no longer than we have to. We keep checking on the rats outside, but they’ll get hungry and move on. As soon as we’re sure it’s safe we leave. We needn’t stay here any longer than we have to.’

Freya took out her knife and began to twirl it in her hand. They were fast, sweeping and elaborate movements, tricks she had practiced many times. It was the adept skill of someone who knew her own capability, all programmed. Freya stopped and balanced the knife on the palm of her hand, point facing upwards, then spoke.

‘There’s something not right here. I sense it, but if you feel comfortable, fine. Like you say we get out of here as soon as we can. But this place and that man give me the creeps. I mean what was this place?’

Aran still held the red book in his hand. He passed it to Freya.

‘This is where they’d sing, worship, pray. It’s a house of the old ways, like the ruins of the abbey on the island. They believed in Christianity. I was told it was born on the island and spread across the mainland. For many years it was everything in the old ways, it shaped the lives and thinking. But it became part of the problem. That’s why it was outlawed by the community. It looks like Father Ridley is still a believer. This is the Christian book. I think everything they believe is in here.’

Freya looked at the bible in Aran’s hands, grimacing as though the book was dirt. Freya shook her head.

‘Have you seen some of the stuff in there? I’ve just seen something about stoning your kids to death. Is that what they did back then?’

Aran grinned.

‘No. At least not for many years. I’m not sure everything in the book is meant to be taken literally. The book’s thousands of years old, things change, but I guess if it’s what you believe. I’m sure the old man will explain. Come on. Oh and Freya.’

‘What?’

Aran’s face turned much harsher, staring into Freya’s eyes as spoke. His voice had lost all of the playfulness and was now full of warning.

‘Keep it shut, will you? These believers are passionate. It’s a huge part of their lives. Remember they’re just words and beliefs. They can’t hurt us, but they’ll mean a lot to Father Ridley and we’re his guests.’

‘Words and beliefs can’t hurt us. You reckon? Our whole life’s been built on empty words and beliefs. Not these ones, but the leader’s. Of course, they’re older and wiser than us, aren’t they, so we’re just meant to trust them. Well, if their words were so clever how did we end up in this mess? They made it, not us. We just have to live with it.’

Aran and Gaia looked at the floor. Neither responded. There was no point. Freya was right. Freya was saying what they had all thought. That was why they were here. They were young and had inherited the mistakes of the past. The future was meant to belong to the young. They would make things right, but everywhere there were thoughts, ideas, rules that held young people back. The leaders told the young what to think and do, trained them, programmed them. Freya knew there was no point in taking her frustrations out on the others. None of this was their fault. Gaia and Aran hoped to build a better future just like Freya, but it had been a long day, and nothing would change through angry words.

Gaia and Aran laid their weapons on the table and moved towards the door. Freya hesitated, but after a warning look from Aran placed her weapons next to theirs. The group entered a narrow passage which led to a large room. The walls were plastered, though the paintwork was old and faded. A couple more crosses hung on the wall, each with the same figure. The centre of the room was dominated by a narrow, wooden table, around which were six chairs with high ornate backs. The table was set with plates, bowls, cups, glasses and cutlery. It was cluttered, but looked unused and neglected. A grimy white tablecloth with a floral pattern covered it, and two bold six pointed silver candlesticks sat on the table. The room was lined with bookcases which were full to bursting. Books of all colours and sizes, mostly hardbacks, littered the shelves. Each one looked tired and worn. The floor was dark wooden boards which echoed the footsteps. In each corner was an armchair, all different shapes and sizes, with white cloths draped across the back of the headrest. A long narrow window stretched high across one of the walls, letting in some light, but the room was dim and dreary. At the far end there was another doorway leading into the kitchen.

Ruth stood by the far side of the table, still clutching the blanket and sucking her thumb. Ridley was not there, but there was a clatter and bustle of activity through the other door. A voice shouted from the room.

‘Please. Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

All three laid their rucksacks in a corner and each took a chair. Gaia’s creaked as she sat. Aran and Gaia sat on the near side by the door they had entered. Freya sat alone opposite, so she could see both doorways. They waited in silence, studying the room. Gaia stared at Ruth who was still passive and unresponsive. The child’s eyes had drifted back to the lifeless look of when Gaia first saw her. The fear and panic in the presence of the priest had subsided.