heart but wasn’t able to do anything real and lasting about it.
‘You must go there,’ she said.
‘Go where?’
‘To Peru. To Father Cormac.’
He looked at her as if she was suggesting he fly to the moon. ‘How can I go, Maddy? They’ll never let me.’
‘Don’t ask them. Just go. You’ve often said that God isn’t worried about some pecking order and lines of obedience. Our Lord didn’t ask permission when he wanted to heal people.’
He still looked doubtful. Maddy got up and paced up and down beside him. With all the powers of persuasion she could gather she told him why he must go. She played back to him all his own thoughts and phrases about the small village where people had died waiting for someone to come and help them, where they looked up to the mountain pass each day hoping that a man of God would come, not just to visit but to stay amongst them and give them the sacraments. She could see the light coming to his eye: the magic was working.
‘How would I get the fare to go there?’ he asked.
‘You can take it from the collection.’ To her it was simple.
‘I couldn’t do that. It’s for Vieja Piedra.’
‘But isn’t that exactly where you would be going? Isn’t that why we’re raising this money, so that they’d have someone to help them?’
‘No, I don’t believe that would be right. I’ve never been sure about the end justifying the means … remember we often discussed that.’ They had, here in this wood, sitting in her classroom, having coffee after the rehearsals for the plays.
She looked at him, flushed and eager in the middle of yet another moral dilemma, but not moved by the fact that he had held her close to him and felt her heart beat, her hair against his face, her eyelashes on his cheek. Was he an ordinary man or had he managed to quell that side of himself so satisfactorily that it didn’t respond any more? She had to know.
‘And when you go you can write and tell me about it … until I come there too.’
His eyes were dark circles of amazement now. ‘You come out there, Maddy? You couldn’t. You couldn’t come all that far and you can’t be with me. I’m a priest.’
‘We have only one life.’ She spoke calmly.
‘And I chose mine as a priest. You know I can’t change that. Nothing will change that.’
‘You can change it if you want to. Just like you can change the place you live.’ There was something in the direct simple way she spoke that seemed to alarm him. This was not the over-excitable intense Maddy Ross he had known, it was a serious young woman going after what she wanted.
‘Sit down, Maddy.’ He too was calm. He squatted in front of her, holding both her hands in his. ‘If I ever gave you the impression that I might leave the priesthood then I must spend the rest of my days making up for such aterrible misunderstanding …’ His face was troubled as he sought some response in hers. ‘Maddy, I am a priest for ever. It’s the one thing that means anything to me. I’ve been selfish and impatient and critical of those around me, I don’t have the understanding and generosity of a Father Gunn, but I do have this belief that God chose me and called me.’
‘You also have the belief that the people of Vieja Piedra are calling you.’
‘Yes, I do. If there was a way to go there I
would
go. You have given me that courage. I won’t take the money that the people of Shancarrig raised. They didn’t raise it for their priest to run away with.’
The moon came up as they talked. They saw a badger quite near by, but it wasn’t important enough for either of them to comment on. Brian Barry told Madeleine Ross that he would never leave his ministry. He had a few certainties in life. This was one of them. In vain did Maddy tell him that clerical celibacy was only something introduced long after Our Lord’s time, it was more or less a Civil Service ruling, not part of the Constitution. The first apostles had wives and
‘You must go there,’ she said.
‘Go where?’
‘To Peru. To Father Cormac.’
He looked at her as if she was suggesting he fly to the moon. ‘How can I go, Maddy? They’ll never let me.’
‘Don’t ask them. Just go. You’ve often said that God isn’t worried about some pecking order and lines of obedience. Our Lord didn’t ask permission when he wanted to heal people.’
He still looked doubtful. Maddy got up and paced up and down beside him. With all the powers of persuasion she could gather she told him why he must go. She played back to him all his own thoughts and phrases about the small village where people had died waiting for someone to come and help them, where they looked up to the mountain pass each day hoping that a man of God would come, not just to visit but to stay amongst them and give them the sacraments. She could see the light coming to his eye: the magic was working.
‘How would I get the fare to go there?’ he asked.
‘You can take it from the collection.’ To her it was simple.
‘I couldn’t do that. It’s for Vieja Piedra.’
‘But isn’t that exactly where you would be going? Isn’t that why we’re raising this money, so that they’d have someone to help them?’
‘No, I don’t believe that would be right. I’ve never been sure about the end justifying the means … remember we often discussed that.’ They had, here in this wood, sitting in her classroom, having coffee after the rehearsals for the plays.
She looked at him, flushed and eager in the middle of yet another moral dilemma, but not moved by the fact that he had held her close to him and felt her heart beat, her hair against his face, her eyelashes on his cheek. Was he an ordinary man or had he managed to quell that side of himself so satisfactorily that it didn’t respond any more? She had to know.
‘And when you go you can write and tell me about it … until I come there too.’
His eyes were dark circles of amazement now. ‘You come out there, Maddy? You couldn’t. You couldn’t come all that far and you can’t be with me. I’m a priest.’
‘We have only one life.’ She spoke calmly.
‘And I chose mine as a priest. You know I can’t change that. Nothing will change that.’
‘You can change it if you want to. Just like you can change the place you live.’ There was something in the direct simple way she spoke that seemed to alarm him. This was not the over-excitable intense Maddy Ross he had known, it was a serious young woman going after what she wanted.
‘Sit down, Maddy.’ He too was calm. He squatted in front of her, holding both her hands in his. ‘If I ever gave you the impression that I might leave the priesthood then I must spend the rest of my days making up for such aterrible misunderstanding …’ His face was troubled as he sought some response in hers. ‘Maddy, I am a priest for ever. It’s the one thing that means anything to me. I’ve been selfish and impatient and critical of those around me, I don’t have the understanding and generosity of a Father Gunn, but I do have this belief that God chose me and called me.’
‘You also have the belief that the people of Vieja Piedra are calling you.’
‘Yes, I do. If there was a way to go there I
would
go. You have given me that courage. I won’t take the money that the people of Shancarrig raised. They didn’t raise it for their priest to run away with.’
The moon came up as they talked. They saw a badger quite near by, but it wasn’t important enough for either of them to comment on. Brian Barry told Madeleine Ross that he would never leave his ministry. He had a few certainties in life. This was one of them. In vain did Maddy tell him that clerical celibacy was only something introduced long after Our Lord’s time, it was more or less a Civil Service ruling, not part of the Constitution. The first apostles had wives and
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