But if Philip was nothing else, he was determined. Slowly he thawed Angela’s spirit, slowly they moved through friendship to something deeper and richer. Slowly she opened and told her story.
Philip had known that she had come from a well-to-do family that had a preference for male children. But what he now learned was that, when she had just entered university, she had met a young Congolese, a sharp and savvy entrepreneur who saw great opportunities in real estate. They became engaged. She was planning on leaving her studies to work with him. Her father was choleric. He had but one daughter and she would complete university—something he had always regretted he himself, like Philip’s father, had been unable to accomplish. But she was equally resolute, she would marry the man of her dreams and they would create new, grander dreams together.
Angela had forged ahead regardless of the consequences and found herself banished from her family. They treated her as if she did not exist.
But she did exist and her love existed. Through this love she and her husband had formed a beautiful girl child. They watched their real estate holdings grow as the girl grew and life seemed to be on track. Then it had happened. In going to arrange for title documents at the national capital, her husband had been in a terrible accident; he was dead on the spot. Angela was now a widow with no close family ties, a young daughter, and an expanding business to manage. It took all her considerable will to stand up under these pressures, but stand up she did, and she transformed the real estate business into a portfolio of rental properties that, even if they did not bring wealth, would keep her daughter and herself in good shape, food on the table, bills paid, and enough for her daughter’s education.
Then Angela met Philip.
They had now been married for nearly ten years. Angela’s daughter, Lucie, was away at boarding school. Angela and Philip had had one son, Germain, who was now six. As Joseph continued to oversee the household, including Germain’s daily upkeep, Angela and Philip were free to spend the necessary hours and days taking care of their respective jobs, being a landlord and an eye doctor.
Brother Mike had no idea how the marriage now faired with two workaholic spouses. But he had heard from Philip, reading a bit between the lines, that as in Angela’s case, Philip’s family had been apoplectic when they had heard their son was to be married to an African. It was already more than they could bear that their boy had gone to some hellish place where he hid his light under a basket and where the family would never receive any acclaim for his healing skills and their grand sacrifice that had led to these skills. But now this ungracious offspring had gone native and was going to take a heathen wife. They could not support the shame. His father had not toiled in the mud and muck to put his only son through school for this. His mother had not tolerated the abuse of the rich and rude to put food in his stomach for this. His sister had not struggled for long hours to help pay his tuition for this. No, the family was beyond the breaking point. Philip was no more. Their son was dead.
Two souls, having been cast off by disapproving families; Brother Mike wondered if it was a match made in Heaven. He had no idea, but it certainly was a pairing of two very strong forces. And, like strong magnets, these forces could attract or repel. Brother Mike was uncertain how they were joined. But he found himself nearly magnetically attracted to each, seeing each as so different yet somehow part of a whole.
❦❦❦
Some afternoons when things seemed to be going as they should, Brother Mike would slip off to the pond, grab his pole, and let his mind fly as he hoped his worm would entice a nice sized bream. When the sky was that pale blue you-can-see-forever clear, the siesta hour gusts like gentle puffs from a snoozing calf, and the eucalyptus leaves rustling like shifting sands, Brother Mike’s mind would soar like a falcon, riding the zephyr, looking down at mankind as though spying on termites in a massive transparent mound—each going his own way, order out of disorder, production out of decay.
Brother Mike could be a deep thinker. He could wonder about man’s inhumanity to man. He could ponder a world overtaken by a tumescent population. He could even probe the furthest reaches of his intellect, asking himself, “Is God with us?” Brother Mike could do all these things or Brother Mike could drink a cold beer and play a hand of cards. While the former might lead to wisdom and divine understanding, it would also underscore the feeble human state. Brother Mike preferred the latter, which numbed the mind and allowed one to be indifferent as to humankind’s almost certain degeneracy.
This particular afternoon on the pond back, Brother Mike wondered about his own direction, sensing he might be getting too mixed up with Philip and Angela. How had he spent all these years without even knowing them and now they seemed to preoccupy his thoughts? If there was a reason for everything, what was the reason for this? Two nearly antisocial souls who had been excommunicated by their families. A household that had nothing to do with the Abbey, a household that did not even attend church. What was the attraction? What was the magnetism?
❦❦❦
Brother Mike tried, and usually succeeded to keep below the radar. He was thus a bit concerned when he was summoned urgently to the Abbot’s office. He entered the sparse headquarters of the Abbey with some trepidation, knocking softly on the Abbot’s stout door before entering, hat in hand.
The rotund and aging Abbot was silhouetted against the big windows that looked out over the courtyard that was the epicenter of the monastery as well as the concourse for the mission’s impressive chapel. He turned as he heard Brother Mike entering, extending his right hand, a golden ecclesiastical ring clearly visible. Brother Mike genuflected on his left knee saying, “Father Abbot, may I ask your blessing?”
As the blessing was given, Brother Mike brushed his lips along the icy surface of the ring, stood and took the chair offered by the Abbot. Seating himself behind a rough-hewn desk, the Abbot entertained a few pleasantries before going after the meat, “Michael, my son, I believe you know Doctor van Hoot who comes regularly to our health center from the provincial hospital?”
Brother Mike indicated he did know the doctor, although in his mind he was wondering about the question as he and the doctor were certainly not close in any way; in truth, they rarely saw each other.
“Well, Doctor van Hoot has a bit of a problem and I would like you to look in on him as you are frequently in town and you seem to have good contacts across the board, including at the hospital.”
“Thank you Father,” Brother Mike interjected, “for thinking of me, but I scarcely know the good doctor.”
The Abbot frowned a bit and replied in a neutral tone, “That is of no matter. I’ve just told our good friend the Doctor that we will extend a hand of help should he choose to accept it. Your connections and talents in dealing with the outside world make you perfectly suited for this assignment. Simply see our good friend and offer any assistance the Abbey may provide. If he chooses to decline, we have stood by him as we promised. If he asks for your intervention, do try and see how this can be done with as little disruption as possible. Come back to me if you feel this is an area where there are matters that could impact on the Abbey or the Abbey’s population.”
With that, Brother Mike was dismissed with the understanding that sooner rather than later he would seek out Doctor van Hoot.
As he walked along the corridor that took him out to the courtyard, Brother Mike wondered if there was deeper meaning in the Abbot’s comments about his “talent in dealing with the outside.” Were his machinations known to the Abbot? To others? Was he in jeopardy?
Ahhhh, he decided, this is much ado about nothing. If anyone knew they would quickly try and bring all to a halt. Having