Mystical Paths. Susan Howatch

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      The generation gap began to yawn between us again.

      ‘Can we both make an effort to keep calm?’ said my father. ‘If we start upsetting each other we’ll get nowhere. Now let’s review your story carefully. You say that the Devil was infiltrating Christian – or perhaps you would be using the traditional language more accurately if you said that Christian was being attacked by demons who were paving the way for their master to take possession of his soul. Very well. But this is a big claim to make and it would be wise to proceed with considerable caution before reaching such a diagnosis. Remember that the gift for recognising the presence of either God or the Devil – the charism of the discernment of spirits – is seldom granted to someone of limited spiritual experience.’

      Obstinate old fogey. I tried to be patient. ‘But I can pick up the vibes in my psyche and then I know, it’s “gnosis”.’

      My father began to get upset again. ‘That’s a delusion. That’s the Gnostic heresy in its most insidious form – the belief that you’re one of an elite which has special access to God and special knowledge of spiritual mysteries. You’re confusing psychic power with spiritual power, Nicholas, but it’s quite possible to be psychically strong yet spiritually weak. Psychic powers must always be the servant of the personality, never the master, and all such powers should be offered with humility to God, not flaunted to boost one’s self-esteem.’

      ‘I know all that, Father –’

      ‘You’re not behaving as if you know. You’re being very proud and wilful, Nicholas.’

      Wilful! Another of those awful Victorian adjectives. I wanted to bang my head against the wall in exasperation. ‘Okay, okay, okay!’ Mustn’t upset the old boy. He might die. Taking a deep breath I grasped my knees so tightly that my knuckles ached and said in my most soothing voice: ‘You tell me what really happened during that scene with Christian.’

      My father sulked for a moment but then said evenly enough: ‘First of all I would survey the background, and the first fact I notice is that he’s taking an interest in you. Why? Possibly it’s because as an Oxford don he deals with many young men of your age and he’s intrigued because you’re unusual. This is the most obvious explanation, although one could be more cynical and theorise that he wanted to see me and realised that cultivating you was the best way of getting what he wanted. Perhaps originally both explanations were true. Now, this second reason for his interest might be classified as self-centred, even ruthless, but I certainly wouldn’t call it demonic, and since he’s still willing to be friendly to you even though I’ve refused to see him, his interest at present would appear to be wholly benign.’

      ‘Yes, but –’

      ‘Wait. Let’s take this one step at a time. The next thing I notice is that he makes a most interesting suggestion: he proposes that you should do the Christian equivalent of National Service before you proceed to theological college. If you did want to do this, I must tell you that I certainly shouldn’t oppose it. I firmly believe that the more experience young priests have of the world the better, and I often think, looking back, that I was ordained too young. Of course I should miss you dreadfully if you were away for a long time, but that’s irrelevant. It would be very wrong indeed if I selfishly kept you hanging around here with the result that your growth to maturity was impeded. You’re got your own life to live. You must live it.

      ‘Very well – where have we got to? We seem to have concluded that Christian’s behaviour towards you has been not only genuinely friendly but unexpectedly helpful. But then we come to his final question: “Are you sure you really want to be a clergyman?” and immediately your psyche soars on to a very odd plane indeed. But why? This is a good question of Christian’s and one which you should, in fact, be periodically asked.’

      ‘But Father –’

      ‘Sometimes when a young man chooses to follow in his father’s footsteps, it’s a way of evading the difficult task of deciding what he’s really called to do, and I for one don’t want you falling into that particular trap. We’re not all called to serve God as priests and I fully accept the possibility that He may wish you to serve Him in some other way.’

      ‘But if I’ve been designed by God to be specially like you –’

      ‘He may still call you to serve Him in a different field. Of course it’s very gratifying to me that you want to be ordained but you don’t exist to ensure my selfish desire for gratification. You’re here to serve God, not your father.’

      Nowadays my father regularly felt compelled to deny his desire for a replica, but since I had long since decided this denial was a mere formula to soothe his conscience, I never took the slightest notice. ‘So what you’re really saying,’ I said after he had finished his new attempt to brainwash himself, ‘is that Christian was sanity personified and I reacted like a lunatic.’

      ‘Not like a lunatic – that seems a little harsh! – but I see no sign of the demonic in this conversation, and I’m wondering if you projected on to Christian a particularly oppressive anxiety which you normally keep buried deep in your unconscious mind. Maybe you should interpret the scene not as a demonic manifestation – and certainly not as a sign that Christian was being infiltrated by the Devil – but as a hint from God that you should re-examine your call to be a priest.’

      ‘But that’s all –’ I bit back the word ‘balls’. If there was one certainty in my life, it was my call to the priesthood. I had wanted to be a priest ever since I had learnt in my early childhood about Jesus the healer and the exorcist, the hero who always triumphed over the Dark.

      Making a new effort to hold on to my patience I said to my father: ‘Your explanation’s so far from what I actually experienced. I know the Dark was there, billowing around Christian and seeping into him through all the cracks in his personality, so your whole interpretation of the scene falls as flat as a pancake.’

      My father then became very angry. ‘You understand nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing. And what’s worse, you don’t want to understand, you refuse to be taught, your pride’s convinced you that you know everything there is to know. But I tell you, Nicholas, that if Father Darcy were present in this room –’

      I somehow managed to stifle a groan. It really was awful how old people repeated themselves. Cuthbert Darcy, who had once been the Abbot-General of the Fordite monks, was my father’s hero. In fact I had been brought up on the extraordinary memories Father Darcy had left behind him. My father would reminisce about this peculiar old cove at the drop of a hat. Sometimes I felt I had heard each Darcy story at least twenty times.

      ‘But Father Darcy isn’t present in this room,’ I said. ‘Father Darcy’s been dead for over twenty years.’

      ‘More’s the pity – if only he could be here to train you as he trained me! Psychics have to be trained. When I think of the appalling messes I got into before I met him – and I didn’t meet him until I became a monk at the age of forty-three –’

      ‘I know, Father, I know, you’ve told me a million times –’

      ‘Then you’ll understand why I pray constantly that you’ll meet your own version of Father Darcy very soon – and sometimes when I pray I feel he’s quite close – or is it that he will be quite close? I’m not sure, but what I know for certain is that Aelred Peters is no longer right for you and you’ve got to have someone much tougher.’

      ‘But I like Father СКАЧАТЬ