Angels in the Architecture (34 page)

‘Yes, yes, yes. Well
, I do think this is quite exciting news. I don’t know if you’ve ever considered ordination, either of you – apparently, it’s not something we’ve discussed at this table (somewhat surprisingly). But it’s long overdue, and I have to say, there’s no two churchwomen would make finer members of the priesthood than you both. In fact, I clearly see a Bishopric looming in your futures somewhere.’

‘
Now, Maitland, the future’s my party trick, and anyway that seems just too far-fetched,’ Loraine responded.

‘A toast
, my dears.’ Maitland raised his glass and others took to their feet also. ‘To Rose and Loraine, the future of our beloved Faith, and what I’m sure will be a marvellous career for both of you.’

‘Rose
and Loraine.’ Everyone chimed in.

When they had all sat down
again, Rose said, ‘It’s probably going to be quite a while yet, you know. The Synod’s said it’s possible, but individual Bishops can make their own decisions about this.’

‘
Oh, Phipps’ll be up for it, don’t you worry,’ said Maitland.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure. But we’ll see
... Anyway. Pete, I thought your lovely Alicia was going to come with you this evening. We’ve all been looking forward to hearing about her science.’

‘You’re changing the subject, my dear,’ Maitland countered.

‘Well, it’s just that we’re not here to talk about that, and I don’t know that either of us has ever really got our own heads round the very real prospect now of ordination,’ replied Rose.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, honestly.’

‘Actually, I guess I always assumed too, that you’d be in favour of ordination if it came along,’ Sally piped up.

‘Really?’ Loraine responded.

Murmurs and nods of agreement went round the table in the obvious expectation of more response from the two deaconesses.

Rose and Loraine both grinned and shrugged shoulders from opposite ends of the table.

‘Well, of course
, we support the idea of women in the Church, and indeed ordination,’ said Rose. ‘And, of course, we’ll consider it. But I think we’ve been content for things to unfold as they will, and I guess we’ll take that step in good time. Probably.’

‘How can you be so relaxed about it?’
said Sally.

‘Why not?’ Rose replied.

‘I just assumed you’d be more, you know, radical about this.’

‘We are.’

‘Well, you don’t seem
very
hot under the collar to me
. That would be the collar you don’t have of course,’ added Maitland.

‘Does one have to be angry and radical at the same time?’
asked Loraine.

‘Usually.’

‘Hmm. Well, I choose not to be, if that’s all right. Angry, that is. But still radical.’

Maitland
regarded Loraine. Everyone regarded Loraine.

Loraine regarded everyone else and said
, ‘Oh, come on! Really! You want me to be radical
and
angry? No!’ She grinned at her audience. ‘Angry’s just not useful.’

‘This is
the Christian Faith we’re a part of,’ Rose added. ‘We’re supposed to be loving, beyond all else.’

‘Turn the other cheek then?’ Maitland
said.

‘Absolutely.’

‘Then how do you get what you want. I mean, I assume you’ve wanted to see this change. How do you advocate for it?’ Sally asked.

‘Simply that. We advocate. And we pray. And we do well at what we do. And we try to demonstrate that we as women have a part to play in
the Church. And I think we do that well,’ responded Rose.

‘But don’t you get angry? Frustrated? That you’ve been denied this particular opportunity?’

‘Where would that get us exactly?’

‘I don’t know. More satisfied?’

‘Absolutely not. It would get us precisely
more
frustrated!’ Loraine replied.

‘Well, perhaps.’

‘Look,’ said Loraine, ‘things can change in the world without resorting to aggression – the serenity to accept what you cannot change, etcetera, whatever that saying is.’

‘Yes, I know the one
, and we all think it’s wonderful, but no one actually does things that way. Not really,’ Maitland said.

‘
Oh, Maitland, you’re a cynic!’

‘Absolutely! And proud of it!’

There were laughs and grins for Maitland’s faux pride.

‘If you add anger to a debate, you harm
: first, yourself and secondly, the possibility of a positive resolution.’

There’s always a place for good old righteous indignation, my dear,’
responded Maitland.

‘Of course, but you don’t have to add anger. It’s
self-destructive. Leave anger out of it and you’ll solve things much more quickly.’

‘But,’ Sally continued, ‘it’s normal to feel angry sometimes at what life’s doled out to you.’

‘Perhaps it is a
human
reaction, Sally, but it’s our humanity also that allows us to manage our emotions and turn them to good use. And anyway, humanity, which does after all include the Church, develops in its own time, according to the exigencies of the age. We can’t always make these things happen sooner than is possible.’

‘Yes
– and no. I can’t agree that we can’t push things along...,’ Sally responded.

‘Of course
, we do what we can to push things along, as you say. But you do not quarrel with a rose tree because it cannot sing,’ stated Loraine.

‘Oh
, now
that’s
good. Can I use that?’ asked Pete, smiling.

‘Certainly, but it’s not original,’
replied Loraine.

‘Will whoever said it mind?’

‘I doubt it. He’s dead. ‘Abdu’l-Baha.’

‘Who?’

‘Baha’i faith.’

‘Right. None the wiser.’

‘Anyway, about your wife, and your son. I hope we’ll get to see Alicia sometime. How’s your son going? How are
you
going?’ Loraine asked Pete.

‘We’re all great. Tim’s making great progress. And I did rather think I might have
had Alicia convinced about coming along, but she’s had to get something finished at the University. Nearly didn’t make it myself, but one of Tim’s therapists stayed on. And as for Tim, I’ve decided I’m going to treat him as a fully functioning kid.
I
think, despite what the so-called experts say, he knows everything that’s going on around him, but for whatever reason he can’t express it – at least not as other kids would. In fact, I think he sees and understands things we don’t.’

‘Like what?’

‘Don’t know – doesn’t matter. My job’s to make sure he has every opportunity to explore his own unique world and participate in ours as a bright and endowed human being.’

‘Well
, that sounds like an enormous change. How do you think you’ll go with that?’

‘As I’ve been going, and hopefully with some intuition, and a measure of creativity.’

‘Then that’s wonderful. Just wonderful. What an extraordinary attitude towards it all! For certain your belief alone will have some effect.’

‘Oh
, so we’re back on that then?’ Maitland reiterated.

‘But this is your field
, isn’t it, Maitland?’ Loraine teased. ‘Faith and belief?’

‘Yes
, actually. And you’re absolutely right. And I agree with you too, Pete. Good luck to you, old man.’

Rose weighed in
. ‘I read the other day about a man in the United States that they’re making a movie about – he’s autistic, but he has a prodigious memory, can practically memorise whole telephone books. He can read a novel in a few minutes, a few seconds per page.
Even
this: his left eye will read the left page, and his right eye will read the right page.’

‘That’s bizarre!’ Maitland. ‘How is that possible?’

‘Well, they don’t know it seems. But he grew up “retarded”, as they said then – awful word – and at some point his father discovered he had some extraordinary mathematical ability. And they’re making a movie about him with Dustin Hoffman.’

‘I’ve read about that,’
commented Pete. ‘It’s called savantism – areas of brilliance in otherwise relatively poorly functioning individuals. Many of them are autistic, and they often have some other mental disability as well. And then there are
mega
-savants, like the fellow you’re talking about. There’s not so many of them.’

‘Hmm.’

Pete had learnt to read momentary silences in the group as some sort of appreciation for the depth of a particular thought or discussion. Sometimes he thought he could just about see people’s dots joining up. The group’s openness to ideas was turning Rose and Loraine’s house into a particular haven for him.

‘Well then
,’ Maitland again, ‘we’ll be expecting something amazing from the young man one day. Mathematical ability you say this other chap has?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Interesting. I wonder if most of their abilities centre on those
kinds
of areas of expertise. I mean to say, the more precise sciences. I wonder if there’s extraordinary
artistic
ability, for example – things requiring higher levels of creativity and expression. You said it was expression that you think is the challenge for your boy, Pete?’

‘I don’t know for sure. I’m just guessing. Well
, maybe not guessing entirely. It’s my own conclusion, from knowing him and observing him. I think he understands more than we’ve thought up till now, and for whatever reason he can’t express what he knows, but if he had the means to, then I think he would have one hell of a lot to say.’

‘There must be research being done on
this, Pete.’

‘Undoubtedly. But, you know, it’s not so easy to find these things out. But you’re right. Every now and then one of his therapists mentions something, although mostly it’s education and therapy focused. But I’ll start paying more attention.’

Rose and Loraine’s dining room was a familiar and comfortable space for those present. The content of the conversation varied enormously, and everyone went with the flow of it. It was almost always of interest, and the reasons for different individuals’ attendance and contributions, known or unknown, were accepted. Had anyone ever suggested he would become a regular at a church group meeting, Pete and most people who knew him would have scoffed at the idea, but he’d been coming for some months now and had found it of increasing comfort, interest, and virtually his only source of friendship and socialisation. He – and he assumed others – hadn’t really realised there existed a demographic that was both religious and open, as well as interesting. Was this the religious silent majority? Pete thought it a discovery well made.

Pete drew himself reluctantly from the good company around ten o’clock,
resisting Maitland’s gestures towards the pub as well, and heading home. Everyone else remained behind, and he was disappointed to be missing out.

When he got home
, he was only partly surprised Alicia was not there yet; he paid the babysitter and stood by the front gate as she walked to her home a few doors up.

‘
Night, Mr Watson,’ she called, turning into her own gate.

‘
Night, Carly.’ Pete turned back into his own gate and up the verandah steps to the front door.

He peeked into each of his children’s bedrooms, deciding to sit a moment by his sleeping son. Timmy’s room was full of colour; there were posters of animals and a castle and a
double-decker bus on his wall. Plastic bins of toys were stacked up, and a bookshelf was untidily filled with books, puzzles, and assorted bits and pieces. His bed was loaded up with cuddly toys, one of which, a faded, floppy, and ragged dog, he had his arm around as he slept.

Pete thought things were going to work out just fine.

Rose dried as Loraine washed up. Their guests had all left, and as usual they refused any cleaning up assistance. All part of the service they liked to offer was their thought.

‘
Shame Pete had to leave when he did,’ Rose said, wine glass and tea towel in hand.

‘Yes. I suppose it was quite late already. And he has rather got his hands full
, I imagine, despite his assertions of his “normal” son.’

‘Yes. Yes, indeed. He’s quite different now from when he first started coming, don’t you think?’ Rose asked.

‘He does seem more relaxed and more certain about himself; and about his son too. I’m sorry I haven’t got to meet the young man myself,’ replied Loraine.

‘Oh
, well, plenty of time.’

‘Interesting discussion.’

‘Mmm.’