The sound of the ancient floorboards creaked, jarring Father Tregarrick as he walked towards the sweeping staircase that led to the Bishop Marney’s private office. He stopped, looked down and focussed an accusing stare at his wooden tormentors.
“Why am I here again?” he thought, but he knew the answer.
He crept on and sighed as failed to remain silent. He climbed the stairs and reached the door of the office. Tregarrick knocked with the intention of attempting to convey an apology through knocking and waited for acknowledgement from within.
He looked at his feet again and began to shift his weight from foot to foot making the floor groan intermittently under the changing pressure. The sounds emitted made the boards sound like they were wheezing like an old man after he had run for a bus. Audible indications of papers being shuffled and people moving around inside the room suggested Tregarrick should prepare himself. He then made out a vague bellowed instruction to do something but couldn’t quite understand what he was being asked to do. Not wanting to do the wrong thing, he knocked the door again whilst cocking his head in an inquisitive manner to gain clarity. Unfortunately, Tregarrick was still shifting from foot to foot making the wheezing noise when Bishop Marney swung the door open with a violent flourish and spoke with a clipped menace.
“I said, wait there and don’t move a fecking inch.”
Tregarrick stared at him with wide-eyed obedience. This obedience, however, was not shared by his feet which were still merrily creaking away independent of Tregarrick’s instinct and internal instruction to remain completely still. He wondered why Bishop Marney looked so angrily puzzled and followed his glare down to his feet, which were still wheezing.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing Tregarrick, do you need to piss or something? You should know where it is, you been here often enough. Hurry up and wait right there when you’re done.”
Bishop Marney turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. It was then that Tregarrick realised that he was still shifting from foot to foot.
“Oh. No.”, he informed the closed door, “Thanks sir, but no, I don’t need to go to the toilet. I was just making the floor wheeze like an old man.” Tregarrick winced as he finished the sentence.
“I DON’T CARE”, came the reply followed by a muted, “God, give me strength”, which sounded to Tregarrick much more like an actual prayer than an exclamation.
A minute or so passed and a look of pained realisation came over Tregarrick’s face and he informed the closed door, “No, you’re right. I do want to go; I’ll be back in a moment.”
Tregarrick heard a growl as he half ran, half walked to the toilet.
Tregarrick examined the tiled toilet wall above the urinal whilst he worked through his explanation of the events that led to him being summoned to the Bishop’s palace once again. Although he had been there four times in three years, he had never managed to be there for something social or uplifting like a retirement or an awards reception. It had been approximately six months since he last visit and he had received such an ecclesiastical savaging that he had now begun to sweat and blink at the thought of getting another one.
Tregarrick disliked confrontation in any form, even down to mundane and everyday interactions. He found it difficult and terrifying to even be addressed by his own name in public anymore, as it usually was either being shouted or taken down in an official capacity. He had long ago decided that it would be best to remain anonymous and disregarded for as long he could get away with. Most situations he found himself in did not allow him to explain himself in any coherent manner. His nerves would take hold of any form of communication he attempted when confronted. The scrambled output that followed any query or accusation, no matter how small, pretty much always guaranteed no hope of positive outcome. Just recently he had begun to have nightmares of being chased by an angry bull terrier wearing only a white collar. The dreams always concluded with Tregarrick being dragged back to the dog’s master which was Bishop Marney. He would look down at Tregarrick with anger and vengeance before the Bishop giving the command to, “KILL”. Tregarrick always woke up at this point.
Whilst he tried to banish this unpleasant image, the small, bald, toilet attendant offered him a towel then paused, looked him in the eye and said purposefully, “I don’t think you shook it enough.”
“I’m sorry?” said Tregarrick confused, still waking from his daydream and holding out his wet hands for the towel.
“I don’t think you shook it enough.” The man was still staring Tregarrick straight in the eyes.
“Shook what enough?”
“Your winkle.”
“My wink…”, he trailed off, he felt himself beginning to retract his hands in terror.
“Yes, your dirty little winkle,” spat the attendant, screwing up his nose and bearing his teeth. “If you don’t shake it enough, germs stay on it and you get AIDS.” He took a small step forward.
“What? AIDS? Really? Good God! Are you sure? I’m sure I did shake it enough though, it’s fine really, honestly…” Tregarrick took a small step back.
“Are you telling me I don’t know my job?” The attendant was almost sneering now.
“NO. God, no.” Tregarrick was now in the middle of another small conflict so his coping mechanisms were shrivelling. He displayed his palms to the attendant in a placatory fashion. “Of course not, I’m sure you know your job very well. You’re obviously keeping a very close eye on things. But I really feel I shook it enough, I’m sure it’s errr germ free.”
“I don’t think it is you know.” The attendant put his hands on his hips and insistently nodded his head towards Tregarrick’s crotch. “Get it out and give it another little shake. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Another. Little. No. Are you sure? Um.” Tregarrick stopped speaking and followed the attendants gaze towards his apparently dirty winkle.
“Go on. Get it out and shake it.”
“Err..”
“NOW!”
“OK! OK.” Tregarrick unzipped and gingerly pulled out his offending member, shook it and began to tuck it back in its place.
“Come on now Father, we can do better than that now.” On that the attendant darted out his hand, fiercely seized Tregarrick’s winkle and shook it so thoroughly that all he could do was wince and stare at the slow motion assault.
“There,“ said the attendant, calmly assessing his work, his hands placed back at his sides, “all clean now. Don’t forget to wash your hands; they’re filthy after touching that thing.”
Tregarrick stood frozen, his arms limply poised in front of his chest as if imitating a recoiling, startled Tyrannosaurus Rex. He flinched and whimpered when the attendant offered him some liquid soap but then immediately accepted it as he feared he would be cleansed further should he refuse. He dried his germ-free hands and began to walk towards the door. Checking back over his shoulder, he saw the smiling attendant still busy rhythmically scrubbing his hands slowing whispering, “dirty little winkle.”
Tregarrick was numb. He wasn’t even surprised anymore. His sense of the horror that was the world was now pretty much constant. Summoning up all his energy whilst attempting to block out his hygienic molestation, he decided that he needed to get his account across in a dignified and repentant fashion. He felt he had a chance to restore the Bishop’s faith in him. He would explain that what had happened were merely the result of consequence, bad luck and the work of evil people outside of his control or cognition. Exactly as it was the last four times too.
When Tregarrick got to Bishops Marney’s door, he sat on the wooden bench that lined the wall and glanced around as if he may be being watched.
What was next?
He remained sat quite still at the top of the set of majestic stairs which lead from the landing to the entrance lobby of the 250 year old house that serves as a Bishop’s residence. He looked left down the hall and regarded the stained glass window that filled the entire end of the landing. It depicted St Francis of Assisi in a static, benevolent pose surrounded by fawning animals. If only he were here Tregarrick mused. St Francis would understand and could provide a cast iron character witness. Bishop Marney would be far too star struck to doubt a word he said. Tregarrick doubted whether you could get much better than such a canonised heavyweight vouching for you. He stared at the picture and continued to fantasise about the scene artfully recounted. He felt an almost palpable urge to be swallowed into the window away from his reality, accepted into the loving, colourful memory. Reality was not a happy place and Tregarrick snapped back into it knowing that he had a lot to worry about. One of Tregarrick’s many failings was that in times of extreme stress or confrontation his imagination took over as if a trip-switch for situations that were too much to handle. On frequent occasions he would be transported into his comfortable and familiar world to be momentarily safe from persecution and maltreatment.
“Just like Jesus”, Tregarrick whispered out loud, shocking himself with his mind spillage. He also startled himself for comparing his own struggle to the persecution and maltreatment of the Son of God. Sometimes his imagination refuge could lead to merge into his Theological education.
As his focus returned and ugly reality set in, he faced the window and watched light flood in showing St Francis tending to his animals. As the window became tinted by the sunlight, the many tiny coloured panes of glass made the dusty debris in the air colourfully visible while it made its way lazily to the ground. All at once, the area was radiant with colour as the dust provided a dancing luminescence that had him transfixed. He stared at this beautiful scene and fell, once again, into a dreamlike state. Humble and thankful as he witnessed the splendour of God’s creation, and giving thanks to this pleasant distraction, Tregarrick was consciously lost, and subconsciously, due to nagging reality, his sweat production increased tenfold.
Several moments later, Tregarrick shook himself from his dreams and sighed internally as he refocused his attention on his explanation of his more recent history. At times like this he put his faith in God asked for his guidance by offering up a short prayer. He got down on his knees in the precise spot where he was told to wait, shut his eyes and put his hands together. He formed the words in his mind and asked God to help Bishop Marney find it in his heart to show compassion to his cause.
As he prayed Tregarrick could hear voices from the Bishop’s office, perhaps it was his time.
The Bishop’s guest hardly knew what hit him as his reversing heels caught the back of Tregarrick’s bent legs and he fell backwards down the long flowing staircase. The stuntman-like grace of the fall would have compelled a cinema audience to have gasped in awe that a human could withstand such force. Unluckily, as spectacular was his plunge was his lack of knowledge of falling down stairs safely.
From his office Bishop Mahoney stared on in disbelief and captured an inhalation tightly at the top of his lungs forcing his mouth to stay wide open for the whole duration of the calamitous sequence. Tregarrick opened his eyes in alarm after hearing what sounded like a heavy sack of potatoes hitting the tin roof of a shed. He looked up at the ceiling, found nothing and then instinctively down the stairs just in time to see the Bishops guest make one last heroic flop just next to the front door. Unsurprisingly, Tregarrick was confused. He rushed as fast as his awkward body would take him down the stairs to the stricken guest. He arrived just in time to stand squarely on the injured man’s hand making his injuries complete a second before unconsciousness set firmly in.
“It’s important not to move him”, Tregarrick thought out loud. “DON’T WORRY, I WON’T MOVE YOU.” He reassured the prostrate visitor. Tregarrick began to panic, this man was seriously hurt, he didn’t what to do? He looked back up the stairs scampered, as only a body blessed with extra elbows and knees could, back towards Bishop Marney’s office.
“I say...Sir!” ventured the flustered Tregarrick through the open door, “Sir! Are you there? There is an unconscious man at the bottom of your stairs.”
“Shut up, sit down and don’t touch anything, you absolute arsehole”, shouted the Bishop with such shrill ferocity that the emergency service that he had just called hung up on him as a prank caller.
“Hello...hello.”, said the Bishop. He made a strangled gargling noise and began to dial again, press the buttons as if he were trying to impale the telephone. “What have you done to my friend? You, you……demonic….gah.”
“Sorry?” Tregarrick was, as usual, nonplussed, “I don’t quite follow?”
“Shush”, said the Bishop dismissively as he concentrated on his phone call. Tregarrick continued anyway, he was staring at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact, reciting his excuses unaware that the Bishop was trying to speak to someone else. Tregarrick then switched gaze to the floor whilst more words came gushing out.
“I realise that recent events may have painted me in a negative light, but really sir, I don’t think I deserve comparison with some sort of Satanic figure.”
Tregarrick was very pleased with his clarity and made a mental mote to congratulate himself later with a slice of hot buttered toast.
“Tregarrick, I am convinced you ARE Satan,” hissed Bishop Mahoney, “now just shut your mouth, keep still or I’ll have you fucking crucified.”
Tregarrick physically jumped, he was not used to this type of language. He began to sweat again and decided to obey his order when he saw the size of the priestly purple vein that had started to throb on the side of the Bishops head. Tregarrick sat on a chair in the Bishop’s office and began to worry, in his absentminded way, whether Bishop Mahoney actually had the power to crucify people. “Surely we’re traditionally against that sort of thing, sir?” ventured Tregarrick before he had time grab his own mouth.
“Tregarrick, I WILL kill you if you persist in speaking.”
The Bishop managed to phone an Ambulance, this time without incident, and then rushed out of the room with a gowned flourish to tend to the injured party. When he got there he was being made comfortable by the Bishops Housekeeper and the Toilet Attendant, the latter had insisted in removed the man’s trousers for unclear reasons. There was a knock at the front door and the Bishop went to allow entrance to what he thought would be Paramedics. When he pulled open the old oak front door there stood two Policemen. The Bishop looked at them as if he was trying to deny their existence through disbelief; the Policemen wondered why a Bishop was staring at them without blinking.
“Sorry to intrude Bishop,” said a tiny Policeman with a Welsh accent, “but there has been a report of an abusive phone call to the Emergency Services Operator and we traced the call to a telephone on your exchange.”
“What?” was the only shrieking enquiry Bishop could manage.
“In fact sir it was traced back to this address.” The tone of the diminutive Welshman had become officious. “May we come in Sir?”
“Of course,” breathed the Bishop, re-gathering his senses, “Yes, yes...please come in.”
The two policemen entered the stately home and spied the prostrate, injured party. The bigger, much less Welsh, Police Officer rushed over to administer First Aid to Tregarrick’s victim. The small Welsh policeman eyed the Bishop as he removed his notebook and pen and posed ready to transcribe an explanation. And there was a long bout of them, along with assurances, more incredulous note taking before the Policemen reluctantly left with the Ambulance crew and the injured visitor. A degree of sanity had returned to the parochial house. Bishop Marney looked up toward his office with a frown so fierce Tregarrick began to sweat even more.
The Bishop entered his office with an angered fanfare of grumbling, ignoring the startled Tregarrick in who had paused, half standing from his chair, in front of the Bishop’s desk and whilst holding out a waiting-to-be-shaked hand. The Bishop walked straight past him and stood behind his desk. He faced Tregarrick, clenched his fists and rested them on the table, knuckles down, leaning his weight onto them, making them crack. He looked past the outstretched hand and straight into Tregarrick’s eyes and sighed a long heavily anger tinted sigh. Tregarrick didn’t know what to do with his hand so he put it in his pocket as if it was something that he was putting away that he didn’t need but then sat down getting it stuck in an extremely uncomfortable position. He was not feeling in a confident enough position to stand up and completely reseat himself so he commenced a silent struggle to try and wrestle his hand out of his pocket. This was all the while trying to remain as composed as he could awaiting the Bishops first words.
“What are you, Tregarrick?” began Bishop Marney whilst the struggle continued. “You have a record of service to the Church that reads like a criminal record. You have caused havoc wherever you have been placed. You have been responsible for injuries, feuds, ruined harvests, one communities’ conversion to the agnosticism and one of your parishioners burned down a church whilst you were trying to give mass. I sincerely hope to the Lord God himself that you weren’t sent to try me, because I want to strangle you. I want to kick you out of the Church once and for all and let you rot as an oversize alter boy in Venezuela until they too are convinced you are possessed and burn you at the stake.” Tregarrick carried on sweating and struggling. “Do you still put all of this down to bad luck and circumstance?”
As Bishop Marney finished his sentence, Tregarrick pulled hard on his hand and managed to make a faint ripping sound from his right thigh area. He then make a strained and concerned nod to show his affirmation. Luckily, this did not seem to put the Bishop off in the slightest; he seemed far too angry to notice and looked as if he wanted Tregarrick to speak.
“Well Bishop, I certainly seem to be blessed with the curse of coincidence and more than my fair share of bad luck. I really believe one day I will make you happy.” Tregarrick said each word as if he read them from the Boys Bumper Book of Excuses. However, the only way that the Bishop could envisage Tregarrick making him happy was becoming the first person since the Old Testament to receive a smiting from God himself. The Bishop woke from his beautiful daydream and focussed once more on Tregarrick.
“What next?” the Bishop ventured in thought.
His mental enquiry was answered immediately as Tregarrick risked a mighty pull of his hand, succeeding in freeing it and punching off of the arm of the chair in the process. The chair arm flew on to the desk of the Bishop resting just in front of him, between his hands, in what could be construed in an alternative situation as an amusing aside. The Bishop looked down in silence at the broken chair arm and then moved his unbelieving countenance toward the confused Tregarrick, who was busy suppressing his pain filled shriek as a closed mouth hum. Tregarrick’s sweat production had reached flood levels.
“Jesus Christ pardon me, but I really am beginning to hate you. In my forty years as a Priest, I have never known anyone like you. You are unique. When you were in the missions in Africa you started a war between neighbourly peace loving tribes whilst trying to introduce a bartering system for Berry harvests. We took you out of Africa to try and ease the situation and put out in the Depths of Mid-Wales to keep you out mischief and you stumble on a drug manufacturing operation. You invited the drug pushers and addicts to the church to repent their sins and see the error of their ways. What did they do?”
“They came to the church every Sunday Sir?” Tregarrick mumbled this as if he knew what was coming next.
“The came to church every Sunday Sir”, Mocked the Bishop in a very high tone that Tregarrick could not believe sounded like himself, “They came to church every Sunday to sell drugs inside the church. They used your church as a marketplace, as a front for their activities.”
“Before that was discovered the locals were very pleased with my work, you have to admit that. Sir”
“That’s because the church had never been so full of happy smiling people before, you idiot. Everyone in the church could have flown to Heaven on their own fuel. ‘Stoned in the Aisles’ I think the gutter press called it.”
“I had no idea that was going on, Bishop Marney, I really didn’t.”
“That’s your problem isn’t it? You really have no idea, do you? You are the most naïve and ridiculous person I have ever had the misfortune to meet. How could you ever have no idea that this was going on under your very nose?”
“I just thought I had a very happy and contented congregation...and collection was the highest it had been in years.”
“The drugs people felt started to feel sorry for you and put some of their ill gotten gains in the poor box as a backhander, you bloody fool.” The Bishop looked down and sighed once more, his demeanour changed. “Look Tregarrick, shouting at you will get me nowhere, although it makes me feel better. When all is said and done no-one can question your faith and commitment to God. I know you have done nothing intentional to these people and I can see no malice in you or even an evil sense of fun. However, you are the only Catholic Priest I know that can no longer visit West Cork. The locals threatened you with something more terrifying than even excommunication.” The Bishop looked directly at Tregarrick. “However, I am giving you one more chance.”
“Oh Bishop, I don’t know what to say..I..I..”
“Good! That’s ideal. Just say Mass every day, take a few confessions, pat some children’s heads and see out your five years in peace and silence. If I ever hear your name mentioned in anger again I swear that the next post you’ll be getting you’ll be picking up a harp and a pair of wings first.”
Tregarrick thought about saying something at this juncture but though better of it and suppressed his question with a gormless smile. Bishop Marney grimaced and reached to his drawer to retrieve some papers.
“Now, here’s the file about your new parish, don’t lose of it or set fire to it or accidentally feed it to a Pensioner. Canon Sealy will brief with some more details on your way out. It’s in a small village called Rhetskill. You start in two weeks.”
“Thank you Bishop, I won’t let you down.”
“How many times have I heard that, Tregarrick?”
“Well, 5 times I would estimate…” Tregarrick then sensed he should be quiet when Bishop Marney began to gnash his teeth audibly.
“Just get out, Tregarrick, I’ll send down a locum in a few months to spy on you and if I have one report of you and your ‘coincidences’, you’re off to the North Pole.” Tregarrick stayed silent as the Bishop sat down. “Now get out, you irritating little tit.”