Yorkshire sounds. Bill said, rapid and repressive, “We’ve already heard quite a lot about the cat episode. Thank you.”
Daniel’s big dark head turned slightly in the direction of this interjection, assessing it apparently. He turned back to Stephanie.
“I wondered if I could interest you in a bit of my work. You were kind enough to express an interest in the way I run my work. I have to be pushy in my job or I get nowhere at all, and there’s something I’ve got a feeling you’re the right person to help with. Just an inkling. I wondered …”
“Another time, perhaps,” said Stephanie, crimson, looking at her knees, almost inaudible.
“Maybe I interrupted something,” said Daniel. “If so, I’m sorry.”
Alexander looked at his watch, at the Potters, at the curate.
“You have some very fine wall-paintings in your church, Mr Orton. I’ve seen nothing to equal them in England. The Mouth of Hell over the nave – and that very
English
laily worm – are particularly fine. Even faded, a real burning fiery furnace. Very lovely. Pity you’ve not got a more informative guidebook and a bit less rhapsodic. Wife of a previous vicar was the author, I believe.”
“I don’t know. I’ve not read the Guide Book. And I’ve no judgment of what’s particularly fine. No doubt you’re right.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place,” said Bill, “if you want anyone in this house to help with your work. As far as I’m concerned, the institution you represent purveys lies and false values and I wish to have nothing to do with it.”
“Well, that’s clear,” said Daniel.
“I live in a culture whose institutions and unconsidered moral responses are constructed in terms of an ideology based on a historical story for whose accuracy there is
no
respectable evidence, and the preachments of a life-denying bigot, St Paul. But we all put up with it.We are all Polite to the church. We never ask, if we swept it right away, what truths might we discover.” Bill glowered. He was saying what he said often, but did not often have the chance to say to clergymen.
“I’m not asking you to come to Church. I came to ask Miss Potter to help wi’ a project I’ve got on.”
“You ought to be asking me to come to Church, that’s the point. If you’ve
got
any beliefs. The thing’s not only dead, it’s flabby.”
“I have my beliefs,” said Daniel Orton, gripping his large knees with his heavy hands.
“Oh I know. One God, maker of heaven and earth and so on. Up to the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the dead and the life everlasting. Do you
really
? In Heaven and Hell? What we believe matters.”
“I believe in Heaven and Hell.”
“Cities of gold, cherubim and seraphim, trumpets sounding, rivers of pearl, fiery pit, claws and leather wings, the primrose path to the everlasting bonfire and all that? Or what? Some clever modern version in which your own character is your own hell in perpetuity? I’m very interested in modern churchmen.”
“More than I am, it seems,” said Daniel. “Why?”
“Because our communal life is a lie because it is
haunted
, tho’ most of those haunted are unconscious of it, by the sick and rotten images you purvey. A corpse on two planks. Some exciting untrue images of fire and apple trees.”
“Why are you attacking me?”
“There is more truth in
King Lear
as far as I know than in all the gospels put together. I want people to have life and have it abundantly, Mr Orton. You’re in the way.”
“I see,” said Daniel. “I’ve not read
King Lear
. It wasn’t set for Higher when I did it. I’ll repair the omission. Now I’ll go home, if you don’t mind. I’m not the debating kind of churchman, nor yet the preacher. And you are making me a bit cross.”
“You can’t
say
that, Daddy,” said Stephanie suddenly. “He practises what you preach. I’ve seen what he does – in hospitals and places – where for all your talk –
Daniel’s big dark head turned slightly in the direction of this interjection, assessing it apparently. He turned back to Stephanie.
“I wondered if I could interest you in a bit of my work. You were kind enough to express an interest in the way I run my work. I have to be pushy in my job or I get nowhere at all, and there’s something I’ve got a feeling you’re the right person to help with. Just an inkling. I wondered …”
“Another time, perhaps,” said Stephanie, crimson, looking at her knees, almost inaudible.
“Maybe I interrupted something,” said Daniel. “If so, I’m sorry.”
Alexander looked at his watch, at the Potters, at the curate.
“You have some very fine wall-paintings in your church, Mr Orton. I’ve seen nothing to equal them in England. The Mouth of Hell over the nave – and that very
English
laily worm – are particularly fine. Even faded, a real burning fiery furnace. Very lovely. Pity you’ve not got a more informative guidebook and a bit less rhapsodic. Wife of a previous vicar was the author, I believe.”
“I don’t know. I’ve not read the Guide Book. And I’ve no judgment of what’s particularly fine. No doubt you’re right.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place,” said Bill, “if you want anyone in this house to help with your work. As far as I’m concerned, the institution you represent purveys lies and false values and I wish to have nothing to do with it.”
“Well, that’s clear,” said Daniel.
“I live in a culture whose institutions and unconsidered moral responses are constructed in terms of an ideology based on a historical story for whose accuracy there is
no
respectable evidence, and the preachments of a life-denying bigot, St Paul. But we all put up with it.We are all Polite to the church. We never ask, if we swept it right away, what truths might we discover.” Bill glowered. He was saying what he said often, but did not often have the chance to say to clergymen.
“I’m not asking you to come to Church. I came to ask Miss Potter to help wi’ a project I’ve got on.”
“You ought to be asking me to come to Church, that’s the point. If you’ve
got
any beliefs. The thing’s not only dead, it’s flabby.”
“I have my beliefs,” said Daniel Orton, gripping his large knees with his heavy hands.
“Oh I know. One God, maker of heaven and earth and so on. Up to the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the dead and the life everlasting. Do you
really
? In Heaven and Hell? What we believe matters.”
“I believe in Heaven and Hell.”
“Cities of gold, cherubim and seraphim, trumpets sounding, rivers of pearl, fiery pit, claws and leather wings, the primrose path to the everlasting bonfire and all that? Or what? Some clever modern version in which your own character is your own hell in perpetuity? I’m very interested in modern churchmen.”
“More than I am, it seems,” said Daniel. “Why?”
“Because our communal life is a lie because it is
haunted
, tho’ most of those haunted are unconscious of it, by the sick and rotten images you purvey. A corpse on two planks. Some exciting untrue images of fire and apple trees.”
“Why are you attacking me?”
“There is more truth in
King Lear
as far as I know than in all the gospels put together. I want people to have life and have it abundantly, Mr Orton. You’re in the way.”
“I see,” said Daniel. “I’ve not read
King Lear
. It wasn’t set for Higher when I did it. I’ll repair the omission. Now I’ll go home, if you don’t mind. I’m not the debating kind of churchman, nor yet the preacher. And you are making me a bit cross.”
“You can’t
say
that, Daddy,” said Stephanie suddenly. “He practises what you preach. I’ve seen what he does – in hospitals and places – where for all your talk –
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