A Fool's Knot (11 page)

Michael thought again. “It's a strange question, because in his case he only seems to go for white people.” He was silent again for a few moments. “I suppose you would be worried.”

 

 

 

March 1976

 

John O'Hara was a man with problems on his mind. As he sat alone to eat his lunch, his thoughts drifted behind piercing blue eyes, whose fixed stare was trained through the window he faced, but whose focus was far beyond the mango tree that the opening framed. The material side of his diocese was taking care of itself. The problem of raising funds for the parishes was ongoing, but then it always was. The cathedral, which just two years before had been but a dream, was almost complete, the money coming from visits and lecture tours by himself and his priests to North America. They had realised a number of verbal commitments from churches and charities, and these had since matured into funding for the special projects that his priests planned and executed. He had seen the cathedral grow from an architect's model to become, already, the most prestigious building in Kitui town. Although unfinished, it was breathtakingly beautiful, astride its hilltop site almost completely shrouded by giant eucalyptus trees. Only the shining metal cross at the top of the tower showed above the branches, but because of its elevated position, this could be seen from almost anywhere in the town. The cathedral itself remained largely invisible until quite close, but already the lines were laid out and the eventual beauty of the building no longer needed to be imagined. When Father John – as he was still known throughout the district – had announced that he was going ahead with the cathedral, he had been concerned by the apparent lack of interest among the priests. Some doubted whether one could build a structure worthy of the name out of corrugated iron and cement blocks. More significantly, some questioned whether the Church should spend so much on a building when the Diocese was in the grip of famine. Nevertheless John had initiated the project and grew ever more committed to it. Gradually, as the building had taken shape and its final appearance became progressively clearer, resistance to it amongst the priests dwindled and eventually became transformed into positive congratulation. So it was clear that the mechanics of the diocese were running smoothly. This was not the area that caused O'Hara's deep concern.

He was returned to the reality of routine by an involuntary wince that shot through his entire body, a reflex reaction he neither initiated nor controlled. The cook had again omitted to soak the oranges in sugar syrup before serving them, and so the first spoonful of his fruit salad dessert was especially sour. John pushed the dish aside and left the table. Early afternoon was usually a time to sleep, to take an hour of rest before returning to his office at two to continue the day's work. Today, however, there would be no time to sleep, so he retired to an easy chair and opened a newspaper to pass the time before the arrival of his expected visitor.

Father Michael made a regular trip to the district centre each week. Kitui town offered facilities that Migwani could not. There was a post office which actually had stamps to sell, a grocer that stocked bacon and sausages, and then there was the Bishop, who held the purse strings. If these facilities were not essential to him, he would stay in Migwani, happy to spend the day visiting projects, talking to people and busying himself about his mission house where he had started a small but productive farm based on the house's waste water, whose flow he had directed away from the septic tank. But in Kitui he could meet with other priests from elsewhere in the Diocese. They could share ideas over a beer, or simply report how their own areas were coping with the famine.

Today, however, he had come to Kitui on another mission. In his pocket he had a letter, a personal invitation for a meeting with the Bishop. He had no idea what the subject of the ‘chat' might be, but had a suspicion that he would be asked to leave Migwani to set up a new mission in a remote area to the south. There had been a lot of talk recently about the idea and Michael had been told unofficially several times that he had been earmarked for the job. So it was with a mixture of excitement and sadness that he drove to town that morning. The chance of opening a completely new mission was something that he relished, but still the thought of leaving the people of Migwani gave him little joy. Janet, who had been told about the scheme over dinner the previous week, had strongly encouraged him to take the job, if it was offered. The romanticism of the remoteness of the place appealed to her strongly, prompting her to use the phrase ‘real Africa' to describe it. She had also immediately suggested to Michael that he establish a school there so that she could come and teach in it. They visited the place after Mass the previous Sunday. Though no more than thirty miles from Migwani, Yatta could not be reached at all by car and even a motorcycle would not get across the riverbeds after even the lightest of rain. Janet had been captivated by the place, completely carried away in her excitement at how Michael might make his impression in such a posting. He had brought her back to earth by reminding her that he had not even been offered the job yet, but the picture was already painted in her mind.

A noise from the kitchen woke John O'Hara, who had dozed off with his newspaper open on his knees. Startled, he jumped straight to his feet, but his concern was immediately eased by the appearance of Michael in the doorway.

“Oh, Michael, how are you, my boy?” said John, taking Michael's hand in his fierce grip and giving it a firm shake. John made every attempt to be sociable rather than managerial towards his younger priests, but invariably his manner grew more overtly paternalistic as a result.

“Nothing too wrong, my Lord Bishop,” replied a good-humoured Michael. “Nothing, that is, that a glass of beer wouldn't put right.”

Unexpectedly John's expression changed, hardened, and Michael realised that he had not been summoned for a friendly chat about a new job. “You don't change, Michael,” he said. “Shall we sit down and talk first?”

Michael sat as invited, feeling somewhat confused. Behind Bishop O'Hara's friendly exterior there was clearly a matter of some concern and probably importance. In his own home he was usually so keen to be sociable that any request was answered without fuss or question, until, that is, the request was transferred to the office and money became the subject under discussion. Michael looked at John intently, trying to interpret the other's prolonged silence. Was the controlled expression a way of tempering Michael's disappointment? He is not going to offer me the job, Michael thought.

But what followed was a series of platitudes. O'Hara asked about Migwani and the severity of the famine. He wanted a report on Michael's work and then his general state of health. It was obvious that this was but a prelude to the real subject for discussion and thus Michael grew steadily more defensive as its appearance was further deferred. The overture had never lasted this long before.

“There's something I want to clear up,” said O'Hara, after yet another short pause. Michael braced himself. This was it. “I've been hearing a lot of gossip recently. Now you know my attitude. If it reaches me, then it's already common knowledge everywhere else. I am always the last to hear.”

Michael's eyes set in a fixed, cynical stare. He had heard the next part before.

“You are spending too much time in the bars around town, my lad. It's not good, you know, for people who are poor and have not enough to eat to see you drinking, dancing and enjoying yourself till all hours of the morning, especially when we tell people through our ministry that they should seek humility and discipline in God's Church.” John paused to await a comment, but none came. “You must see the point, Michael?” said O'Hara.

Michael's voice was low, rather malicious in tone. “I see the point all right, my Lord, but I would find it a lot harder to justify a million shillings spent on a cathedral.”

John's paternalism allowed him to ignore this almost personal slight. “Now, now, there's no need to talk like that. It's not as if they are alternatives. And you know full well that everyone, except for a few of our own priests, is filled with pride at the thought of this forgotten little town having its own cathedral. It's not just a building. It's a symbol of a change in attitude amongst the community. It puts the place on the map, so no one can ignore it, not even the government.”

“The money would have fed half the district until the next rains,” said Michael with a scoff. His views on the construction project were well known.

John still spoke quietly, calmly brushing aside the invitation to argument. “I see no point in going over old ground, Michael. When I was in your position, I was also a man totally involved in the problems of my parishioners and put them before any other consideration. But you must understand and accept what we are trying to do here. We are not just a charity to be used when needed. We're the missionaries of a living Church that represents a way of life and, in that respect, our mission is permanence. That's why we need a cathedral.” John again awaited a reply.

Michael understood the argument, but he did not agree with it. A building could always come tomorrow, but a life must be saved today.

“After all,” continued John O'Hara, knowing that Michael had just come from the town with a box of groceries in the boot of his car, “none of us gives up his own table to the poor…”

“And that's why we are always going to be a diocese of missionary Fathers contenting ourselves with the subservience of our congregations,” said Michael, irritated by what he considered to be a lack of foresight. “On that basis, we are here to fill churches, not spread the faith!”

John was sterner this time. “We're here to do both, Michael. We cannot ignore either side of the work.” John's heavy eyebrows lowered a little as he came to the point, abruptly. He eyed the younger man with all his authority locked into the silence of his stare. “There's also been a lot of talk around the town about your relationship with the girl in Migwani.”

Michael was shattered, the shock running so deep that he was rendered quite speechless. John O'Hara seemed to interpret his reticence as an admission of guilt, or at least acceptance that there was an issue to confront.

“If the talk has reached Kitui, then goodness knows what it's like around Migwani. It's just not good enough, Michael.” O'Hara's voice was now solid and pointed, and also louder than he himself realised, amplified by the inner rage he was trying hard to contain.

“That is quite ridiculous,” shouted Michael. “If you are willing to believe a lot of senseless, puerile gossip, then I wonder how it is you have risen to where you are today…”

John was incensed by this. “If that's what you think of the sincere beliefs and fears of ordinary people, Michael, then all I can say is that you have no right to call yourself either a man of God or a man of the people!”

The two men thus began a loud and bad-tempered argument. Michael challenged O'Hara to believe his word as he described the friendship, and no more, that he shared with Janet Rowlandson. He believed that there was nothing wrong with their eating together, talking together or occasionally visiting friends together. As far as he was concerned, his friendship with Janet was the same as his relationship with his catechists, with his cook or with anyone else he called a friend.

O'Hara did not dispute Michael's word, but he strongly refuted the assertion that the relationship should be viewed like any other. Janet was young, attractive and white, and, her presence in Migwani accepted, that alone created a link with Michael, a link that had to be managed carefully, with always one eye on what people might think. The crime, he continued, lay not with people who rushed to adopt bigoted opinions, but with Michael and Janet for not having realised that they might fuel imaginations if they behaved without tact. Furthermore, Michael must not underestimate the psychological effect on himself of spending so much time with an attractive young girl. He had seen it happen before, he repeatedly pointed out, and the consequences could be dire for all concerned, including the Church.

Michael appreciated the argument and did not doubt John's claim to experience. Neither did he dismiss the last point. Only a few years before this same discussion had taken place between O'Hara and another young priest, who had become infatuated with a girl working for a year in one of the hospitals. On that occasion, the priest had become so angry with what he considered to be the warped minds of ‘churchmen' that he decided there and then that he no longer wanted to be counted amongst their number. He left the Diocese and the priesthood, and then married the girl.

Michael, however, kept his calm. As the argument continued, he began to admit a strong disillusion. How could he, a young man with, he believed, the right ideas and the energy to put them into practice, work effectively in his own way when the people who controlled the institution he had joined held such obviously different views? Did John O'Hara really believe that Michael's beliefs were not founded on the interests of the Church? Surely he would never have joined a missionary order had that been the case. But he knew this dichotomy, even conflict, was not personal but institutional within the Church. The Second Vatican Council had created an agenda for priests like Michael Doherty. For older priests like John O'Hara, the Church as institution was paramount. It took the lead, was teacher to its flock and, in Michael's view, spoke with a one-voice-fits-all formula for salvation. It remained the individual's personal mission to live up to the model, to achieve its goals through a private aspiration to share a perhaps eternally unattainable grace. But for post-Vatican Two priests, the Church was a community. Faith and salvation remained personal, but expressed collectively the concepts now assumed a social dimension, a dimension that could be explored and perhaps fulfilled via social action. For priests of O'Hara's generation, the Church was the didactic teacher. For Michael Doherty and his kind it had become the heuristic learner. They were members of a single Church, but the worlds they inhabited shared no common universe.