In The Name Of My Father Chapters: Chapters:11, 12, 13 and 14

Helen Breaks with her Long-Term Partner John:

Back in Melbourne, Helen threw herself into study, setting herself a personal challenge to work optimally, incorporate some extra units in her course, and hopefully cut short her years of study. For that same reason she had carefully whittled down her friendship group.

But her thoughts often strayed to Alistair, mental intrusions she would struggle to brush aside. It had only been such a short time since she and John had parted ways, and though she missed him, her heart reassured her that breaking ties had been the right thing to do. Beautiful human being as he was, he was not the one for her.

Sure he’d been comfortable to have around. There was no disputing that. She used to say that he was like a nice warm lambswool sweater in winter, warming her heart, protecting her, not to mention bending to her every whim.

And though they had still laughed a lot, and teased each other about many of their funny little quirks, the spark for her had gradually become absent. In the early thrust of their relationship they would have moved heaven and hell for each other and, but for the events of recent times, that could possibly have continued to be the case.

But things had changed and it was for that very reason she felt she had to be fair to him, and to go to great measures to minimize the hurt when she explained why they should split.

She cried…how she cried, for she had no valid reason to offer him for the separation, except that the spark, the flame, and the warmth of his caring, now refused to grow, however much she stoked it.

In the weeks that followed, the thought of their separation hung heavily over her. There was pain on both sides.

“It’s hard for me too John,” she’d told him. “I still care lots for you, as my best friend, as the person who makes me laugh, the one I can always find in my crowded mind, but letting you go is probably the kindest thing I can do right now, because sooner or later I will break your heart, and believe me, that will break mine too. I love you too much to cause that kind of misery.”

“So why split up? If I’m that damned wonderful for you, then it makes no sense to go our separate ways…or does it?” he added questioningly. “You tell me. If you’re looking for perfection you’ll be lucky to find it, so tell me.”

“If only I could easily answer that. I just know that allowing you to go might be the best thing I ever do…not for me…for you. And I know you will find this a hard pill to swallow, for however I put it, it sounds so trite, but I really hope we can always be friends.”

“How could we be otherwise? I love you Helen and I always will, but you already know that. What hurts most is that I didn’t see this coming. A few weeks ago everything appeared to be fine, more than fine, and then suddenly it’s all falling apart.

“But, it’s clear you’ve made up your mind, so I’m trying hard to see things your way and not to convince you to stay with me, for HELL, that’s what my heart craves” he stammered, his voice cracking as he struggled to hold his feelings in check.

“However there’s one thing I want you to know. I will ALWAYS be here for you, always. If you change your mind, if you need me for whatever reason, for any reason at all, promise to call.”

The hardest thing for her to deal with was that her long-held belief that they would be together, with careers and a mortgage, with children and travel, with highs and lows, all the things that normal loving couples do and have, were now dashed. She’d seen to that! Both alone, both beyond miserable, and yet she knew in her heart that there was no going back.

In which case, why did it hurt so badly? It wasn’t that SHE deserved better. She didn’t, but HE certainly did. That one thought comforted her in the moment and enabled her to quietly close the door on her regret…tears or no tears.

In the weeks following, somehow she managed to ply herself to work, no breaks for pleasure, no coffee with friends, just lots of freed-up time in which to get things done, and with absorption in her work, came healing.

John Reflects on his Meeting With Helen

However long and deeply he thought of things, John could not fathom Helen’s behavior. The reasons for her splitting were nebulous to say the least, and given that everything had been wonderful since the day they met, he was now at a loss.

“You’d be perfect for each other,” his friend Max had said. “Believe me she doesn’t need my help to find a partner and she might not even be in the market for one, but hey, you just never know. I can promise you it won’t be one of those awkward situations where you find yourself checking your watch, begging for the night to end, or finding a way to make your escape between sentences. She’s terrific fun, attentive, clever, and attractive, so what do you think? Just say you’ll come…a couple of drinks with a pretty girl…it’s not so much to ask, especially with us as a buffer, is it?”

Reluctantly he had given in. Blind dates weren’t his thing, and he found himself hoping for that bolt from above that would put him out of action, just for the night.

It didn’t arrive.

And so, he went.

As it turned out, it was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Helen was everything that Max had promised and more. He remembered the night as if it were yesterday, the outcome in particular.

She was certainly beautiful, but in an understated way. What attracted him more, was the way she smiled inclusively at people, and listened, really listened, giving them her undivided attention. And when she spoke, her eyes swept courteously around the group, inviting them into the discussion. These are aspects of beauty that transcend the skin-deep obvious.

If you watch people closely, you will find that they reveal so much about themselves without having to say too much. Helen was the sort of person who managed to make everyone around feel good. She had that subtle knack of being able to pull back the curtains of a cloudy day and allow the sun to shine through.

He was so glad he’d come.

As the night progressed his heartbeat became elevated and he found himself wearing the kind of smile that sticks around on your face for no apparent reason. He was more excited than he had been in a long time and he wished the night would never end.

“Where have you been all my life?” he asked himself quietly.

And now? If only he could now go back in time to recreate that first meeting, and maybe do things a little differently. That way he might be able to lift the lid on where things had gone wrong, to discover what exactly had changed his relationship with her, and with some luck, rectify things.

His mother had always warned him to leave girlfriends better than he’d found them. In this case the opposite was the case. Helen had left him a warmer, more wholesome human being with deep-seated qualities and abilities that she had subtly developed in him.

How he had loved those first few pages of their relationship, the getting to know one another, the heart-stopping paragraphs that told him that he never wanted their new-found love to end, and the conversations that went late into the night.

Sometimes he felt it was the stuff of movies, but in so many ways it was better than that! Movies are about pretense, about over-the-top make-believe, excessive glamour, and this, he was convinced, was so much more. For a whole raft of reasons their mindsets had naturally morphed into their being a perfect match.

That’s what he had thought!

Some nights he would simply watch her as she worked and wonder how on earth he had got so lucky. She was the one who commandeered his waking thoughts, and massaged his drifting off to sleep.

How could things possibly get any better?

But just as suddenly things had changed. After she returned from her weekend with her parents he’d noticed. Oh they were subtle changes that he couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

Yet they were there.

But even then he was not alert to anything that should have put him on edge. Not once did he even consider the notion that she might have met someone else. No, her preoccupation had little to do with newfound love.

He was sure of that.

Consequently he brushed his doubts aside. Mood swings are part of being a woman, he reasoned, and often right themselves in time.

But with hindsight he should have been concerned, he should have realized that those changes were significant. Was it the case that he had opted to be myopic? Had he simply allowed fear to prevail so that he hadn’t been brave enough to ask the appropriate questions?

Maybe so, and now, despite his huge sense of loss and devastation, there was no way he could be angry. Her severing of ties had been ever gentle and kind, her concern more for him than for herself.

It was the end.

He had to accept it.

He would move on.

She would want him not just to survive, but be happy and he would do his best. It would be his gift to each of them. Initially it might mean little more than an energetic immersion in work, work, concentration, and healing.

The ball was in his court.

Some people never ever get to enjoy the happiness he had once had, and there was no point in hoping for the impossible. That was akin to being in prison through no fault of your own, and hoping for a lucky reprieve. It would be his gift alright…if he could ever muster the courage!

Respite from sadness…

Help, it would seem, comes when you least expect it and in unexpected guises. Alistair’s seminarian friend Cameron called to say he was passing through on his way to Melbourne and suggested catching up for a couple of days.

“Only a couple?” Alistair groaned. What he wanted to say was stay as long as you like. Stay for the year. If ever I needed somebody to talk to, it’s right now. But in his characteristically affable way he answered.

“Hey Cam, great to hear from you…are you manna from heaven or what?”

“That bad, is it? Just as well I decided to make the detour then. How’s your cooking these days?”

“Well, I haven’t died, as you can see. Not a great fan of the art so I accept any invitation to eat out. Irish stew and shepherds’ pie are two of the favorites by some of the parishioners. But hey, you can have too much of a good thing, in which case I have taught myself to cook a few dishes. What’s your poison?”

“Not sure I can answer that. It’s been so long since I enjoyed some great food.”

“I can rustle up a mean Burmese curry or a Boeuf Bourguignon…whatever takes your fancy.”

“Well one of each doesn’t sound too bad. You do the cooking and I’ll bring along some grog. On second thoughts,” he added quickly, “shelve the curry. Beer goes better with a curry in my opinion. I have a bottle of Shaw and Smith Shiraz with me which I’m looking forward to sharing. It was voted the best wine of the year a few years ago, 2012 I think, and I happen to have that very vintage. From all I’ve read, it’s great value at $40 a bottle…just a little perk I received from a parishioner for baptizing his twins last Sunday. I imagine it would go quite well with a perfectly slow-cooked casserole.”

“Checking value for service are you?”

“Huh?”

“Well I wouldn’t have a clue about wine prices.”

“Oh I see,” he laughed. “To be honest I had never heard of the wine, so I Googled it. I could hardly land on your doorstep with a bottle of vinegar.”

“Actually I know that winery. It’s in the Adelaide Hills. They’re making a killing these days. That particular one is going ahead by leaps and bounds, so a bottle of their top drop sounds great to me! I suppose we’ll still be adhering to the vow of poverty, given that you didn’t actually BUY the bottle?”

“Well, it would have been totally impolite to have refused it…so the answer’s an absolute YES! Besides, the family’s pretty well heeled from all I can see. Don’t know what exactly I was drinking at the baptismal party, but I had my fair share. Given the paucity of perks in our profession, you have to make the most of these occasions.”

“I’m thinking I’ll have to be dropping a few hints around here. The only perks I have had so far have been a couple of afternoon teas with the ladies’ groups…might need to consider a move to a more up-market parish.”

“Well, that has its drawbacks too. I’m forever on edge. A boy from the bush has so much to learn about decorum!”

“I can well imagine! So the Boeuf Bourguignon it is! I’ll expect you when I see you!’

Serious Drinking and an Opening of Hearts

“Hi Darling…I’m home! Smells like I’ve found the right house!”

“Just as well you did, Cam,” Alistair laughed as he threw open the door. There’s country hospitality around here, but you have to wait to be invited. How are you? Gosh I wish it were true.”

“What’s that?”

“The bit about your being home…maybe even being my darling, as you put it. This can be a bloody lonely life can’t it! Being a priest is like being at everyone’s beck and call with hardly a thought about the person being ‘becked’ or ‘called’!”

“So true, in which case, just for the next couple of days, let’s see if we can beg some divine intervention to keep the callers off our backs, no deaths, no marriage break ups, no kids running away from home, just the two of us to be left alone.

“We,” he said grandly, “have some serious drinking and talking to do, though not necessarily in that order. I stopped off at Dan Murphy’s to buy a few standbys, and they had a Vas Felix Cab Sauvignon on special…or maybe it was just that our getting together was special. Anyway, hang the expense. I bought a couple of bottles.”

“Well, too generous by half Cam. Let’s share the cost.”

“Don’t even think about it! I’m a big lad and it was my decision to splash out. My standard drink is usually a ten or twelve dollar bottle, which lasts two days if I bind my wrists together, and I need to get close to the end of it before it tastes any better than altar wine. There’s nothing like cheap plonk to put you right off the stuff!”

“Well, I’ll allow your generosity this time, as long as I can make it up to you in the future. Meantime I hope my casserole and chocolate orange cake, the only dessert I have ever made, can make up for everything.”

“Impressive.”

“The menu here is stunted in the extreme. Best you don’t stay for longer than a few days,” he warned. “Have a couple of cold Mexican beers in the fridge, and by my reckoning it’s easily beer o’clock. How does the saying go again…I mean, about beer?”

“How could you forget man? I only drink beer on days ending in ‘y’.”

“That’s it! Beer certainly helps to solve the world’s problems!”

“The world’s problems? If we can solve mine that will do for a start.”

“Sounds serious!”

“Well it’s either a mountain out of a molehill or a molehill out of a mountain, depending on whether we’re looking for happiness, or ongoing stress.”

“Think we should get that beer!”

For a while the two sat comfortably, reminiscing on people from their past and events they’d shared, catching up on tidbits about fellow seminarians, and eventually, the cricket, a sporting interest they both shared. It was something that kept them grounded, but eventually the talk inevitably turned more personal.

“So, Alistair, I’m sensing you’re not entirely happy. Are we talking a girl problem here?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Could I be on the money?”

“No, I don’t think so. My problem’s more to do with having too much of my own company, something I have to accept total blame for. I should have been better prepared.”

“How can you be better prepared for something you have no real knowledge of?”

“The thing is, we all knew before we started that the job would mean being on an endless merry-go-round of dealing with kids, or teenagers, married couples or old people who suffocate you with kindness, and of course, dealing with their inevitable death. That’s all par for the course. What I find hard is that I rarely come into contact with people of my vintage. You could count in one hand the number that shows up on Sunday mornings, so it’s easy to feel like the proverbial square peg.”

“I agree. It’s much the same for me. You have to wonder where it’s all heading. You get some young families on weekends, but not many. Then during the week there might be twenty seniors turning up for week day mass…all looking after their eternal souls I suppose. Once the grey brigade moves on to lower ground there will be nobody left! We could be redundant soon.”

“Hah! We should be so lucky! It’s a thought that could keep me buoyant though!”

“Do I detect a hint of misery? Was pretty sure your sadness was to do with a girl. How disappointing mate! Hey remember we used to joke about who would be first to be tempted? I’ve actually had to give up shopping, because even the frustrated moms who duck down to the supermarkets without their makeup are looking pretty attractive to me. Sad, isn’t it?”

“No, not sad at all…it’s perfectly normal. Who we are, and who we are supposed to be, are two different beasts. I’ve said all along that this business of celibacy is just a church-imposed load of bollocks. There’s no heavenly dictate involved, and even if we were to accept that there was, you don’t have to do too much delving into history, to realize that the information on it is dubious at best.”

Cam responded. “In monasteries where men have elected to spend their days in prayer, celibacy is unlikely to be so much of an issue. There’s not a woman in sight, zilch temptation, so to me their choice is so much easier, but our situation is a whole other issue.

“We can’t escape temptation because we’re actually right here, in the thick of it…young, attractive women if we’re lucky, broken marriages, with older but still attractive women, off-the-rail teenagers, tattooed maybe, but many still gorgeous. It all adds up to a delightful package of in-your-face temptation. Between you and me, I think celibacy is a bit of a joke. No! No! Let me correct that. I believe it’s a form of self-abuse, IF you stay true to it.”

“Goodness, I never thought of it like that,” Alistair remarked, surprised at how his own thoughts were being reflected in Cam’s little speech.

“Right through history we have stories of popes fathering children and priests having housekeepers.”

“I’d kill for a housekeeper!”

“What I’m referring to is a live-in partner masquerading as a housekeeper. These are priests who have obviously reached the conclusion that the oath they swore on is unsustainable.”

“What?”

“Wake up and smell the roses Alistair. I have a friend who told me about her family. Hers is an Irish background and it took her all her life to realize that the parish priest’s housekeeper, her own mother’s cousin, was none other than the priest’s partner. She used to wonder why she hadn’t chosen to be married. But now she realizes she was married…to some extent…all the perks and not so much responsibility!”

“So why hold on to a rule that’s obviously too hard to uphold? People must know for heaven’s sake.”

“See I don’t understand this. All this preaching that we do from the pulpit about how we all should be conducting our lives, and behind the scenes, the story is possibly playing out so differently. I am stunned, but at the same time, maybe I’m not all that surprised. Dealing with my own demons has called me to question so many things.

“Want more?”

“Have a feel you’re going to tell me anyway, so go on.”

The light had gone out of the discussion, Alistair’s situation paling into insignificance, given what he’d just learned. Just how pervasive the climate of non-celibacy was, he’d had no idea of, but he had a suspicion he was about to find out.

“Well,” Cam sighed, “my friend’s sister-in-law is the daughter of a priest. It’s a long story, but it’s true! Seems this mother’s husband had gambled all their money, she was stressed, so she went to see the priest to ask for advice. He invited her and her children to the priests’ summer house…for a little break. The rest is history…or, to be more accurate, the mother was left with another mouth to feed!

“I’m not telling you these things to shock you. To be honest it doesn’t surprise me at all. Nor do I stand in judgement of people. Wherever we put constraints on individuals, reactive behavior will occur. The behavior in itself is often born out of arduous circumstance, and in this case, if it’s a case of caving in to natural desire, and comforting, it will continue to happen.

“Let’s face it. Living as a priest is an unnatural way to conduct your life. It’s akin to being a character on stage, playing out an expected role. The difference between clerics and actors is the actors get to go home to their families. I can’t think of one bloke who could see that as a calling, and yet it’s a huge part of a priest’s remit. There’s no getting around that. Denying intimate human contact with a woman makes no sense at all.

“Look at it this way. How can we be expected to develop into rounded human beings when our very position demands that we avoid, not just sexual experiences, but family life that would enable us to better understand the trials and tribulations of living together? It’s totally ridiculous, and counter-productive from where I am standing.

“Viktor Frankl, a holocaust survivor and psychologist, in ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’ is quoted as saying that you can take everything from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms, to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

“I like that!”

“To be honest I fail to see how we can do the social part of our job, when we have such a stunted appreciation of human frailty ourselves.”

“Another beer? Just as well there are no firm rules on the consumption of alcohol!”

“Twist my arm…but only if it’s as chilled as the last one. Trust the Mexicans to come up with such a drop. Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder…I read that somewhere in Mexico!”

“A good segue, if we didn’t have more serious things to discuss, but let’s just have a look at what you just suggested. It wouldn’t be the first time I wondered about our dearth of human experiences. Imagine being the daughter of a priest though. Who would ever believe it…and under what conditions?”

“Oh the usual!” and they burst into gales of juvenile laughter.

Over dinner, and a couple of delicious bottles almost consumed, they sat by the fire, savoring the last few drops. There a simple confession took place, Alistair admitting to Cam that he was, in fact, attracted to one young woman in the parish.

“She’s a psychology student in Melbourne and her mother cajoled her into going to mass one weekend, just as a representative of the youth of the parish, to make me feel better about things I suppose. She was such a great personality. That’s something you can’t fake.”

“Well now…so we can blame the mother!”

Alistair chose to ignore the comment, but added, “She’s a stunner alright!”

“Oh dear…I try to avoid those.”

“Her soul is what makes her a stunner Cam. Sure she’s pretty, more than pretty, but she’s also intelligent, warm and natural, funny and engaging, and we share so many interests…to be honest she’s everything I’d ever want in a woman.”

“And you worked all that out in one meeting?”

“Well no! I met her that once at church, then another day when I was out doing some business in town and she just happened to struggle into the local café with a truckload of shopping, all shoes.”

“So, we have an expensive lady with a remarkable soul…still not quite with you.”

“That was our second meeting and I offered to buy her a coffee, which she accepted. As for the ‘expensive’ bit, she’s not. In fact she’s a minimalist. At least she’s getting there. Her shopping was the first she’d done in a whole year…all shoes…and you know how girls are about shoes.

“Anyway, it was great and I was reminded of that Jungian quote, ‘the meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances. If there’s any reaction, the two are transformed’.

“To be honest we could have talked for ever. It’s not often that you meet someone with that ‘je ne sais quoi’, that remarkable ease, and unassuming quality that makes people, me included, feel relaxed, but a tad excited too. Strange thing is, despite the innocence of the meeting I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind.”

“Oh!”

“She’s in my dreaming, my confrontations, and in every bloody thing I do, and I find myself asking questions like, I wonder how Helen would deal with this. I don’t know when I last had a good night’s sleep. I’ve tried to pray for guidance, but Helen’s face is always there, and to be honest I succumb to thinking about her rather than praying for directives from above.”

“And she has no idea of this?”

“Oh I doubt it. I imagine she hasn’t given me another thought.”

“Whereas you have played the scene over and over in your mind and it’s become reality! You’re a bit of a love-sick puppy. The thing is, with so little experience with women, when a young, very attractive one comes along, there could be a tendency to make it so much bigger than it is. Do you agree?”

“Depends what you mean by experience. I wasn’t exactly cloistered before the priesthood, so no I wouldn’t agree that I am exaggerating the attraction. This is the first time I have shared it. It’s taken a good bottle of wine, and someone I trust implicitly, to open it up for discussion. Of course I won’t take it any further, you understand. I’ve taken my vow and I will commit to that.”

“So, you’ll be strong until the next time?”

“That’s my plan. No! No! What the hell are you inferring? I WILL be strong!”

“Take it easy mate! I was inferring nothing, except maybe that we are all human. Sadly, frailty is its bedfellow. Even with the best intentions, plans can and often do, change. Like a pack of cards they can be toppled, one weak card spelling the demise of all the others. It’s easy to get caught up…Helen –now that’s a gentle name for an equally-gentle girl…am I right?”

“I probably wouldn’t describe her as gentle. She’s very comfortable in her own skin, and from all I’ve seen, wise beyond her years. But believe me, Helen is not at risk. I wouldn’t compromise her in any way. Besides, I know I’d be way down on the list of her admirers. I am the one most likely to fall on my sword.”

“And if you did you would surely lose your head, and then claim martyrdom!”

“I shouldn’t have told you. I knew you’d laugh. Look, I realize I can’t have her, and I sure as hell have no plans to corrupt her.”

“Easier said than done mate!”I’ve seen many friends hang around streets and cafés, hoping that they will ‘accidentally’ bump into that special someone. They’d never admit that it’s what they’re doing, but it’s clear to everyone else. The accidental bit takes the guilt out of what they are doing.”

“Come on Cam. I am guilty of many things, but stalking isn’t one of them. If I bump into her it will be nothing more than absolute serendipity. This wine is delicious by the way!”

But Cam was out like a light…the last dregs of his wine teetering precariously close to the rim of his glass.

Unclasping it from his hand and quietly tiptoeing into the kitchen, Alistair placed the two glasses in the sink, thereafter sloping off to bed, to sleep, perchance to dream…or, as was more likely, to stare through the window at the myriad of stars above, and to wonder just where his life fitted in.

Reality was…Cam was wide awake.