It has all dissolved, all faded, he thought, trying to find some image for his loss of faith. Had it been some weak substance then, some mere reflected picture? It has gone, hasn’t it? he constantly asked himself. Yes, it had gone, that seemed clear. But what had he lost? His livelihood, his friends, his mode of being, his identity. But what else, surely something else had gone, surely the thing had gone? But the thing is no thing, he thought, is that not the point? What is it that hurts me so, that pains me as if I had committed some awful crime or made some awful mistake? He thought, God is nothing. God the Father, that is just a story. But Christ. How can I have lost Christ, how can that not be true, how can it, how can it?
And how can I not be a priest any more? That was a more manageable question, since there were so many practical problems involved in beginning to live without the priesthood. He was amazed at the ease with which he had got a job. This had not only been a good omen, it had somehow been an exercise of his new self, its will, its kind of satisfaction. It was the first ordinary good thing that had happened to him in his new life. The extraordinary good thing that had happened was of course Beautiful Joe’s remarkable acquiescence in the idea of accompanying him. Whatever would it be like? And what had, so surprisingly to Cato, made up Joe’s mind? Was it the idea, which had remained with the boy as something almost magical, of, perhaps indefinitely, sponging on Henry? Or was it, as Cato hoped, that Joe could now at last see how much Cato loved him? He did think that the boy had been impressed. And now: Joe who had never yet seen him without his cassock would be able to understand how absolutely free Cato had made himself so as to be bound again. He needs love, thought Cato, he wants love, every soul wants it. There is a simplicity here which human egoism is too devious to accept. Pure love can cure evil, ultimately nothing else can.
As he walked back across the waste land which was beginning to look so like a meadow in the sunshine he felt himself full of that power. All the pain was with him, the searing sense of loss and shame, but he felt filled with the power of love, as if a scarred body could, with all its scars, be glorified. He smiled at the image which had so spontaneously arisen. Not I but Christ. Now only I. There is only I to be Christ, thought Cato. And as he thought of Joe, who was soon to come to him at the Mission, his heart was so rent with love that he almost staggered, and a great passionate power seemed to be flowing into him out of the steaming ground: for he was not imagining it, the ground was actually steaming a little after the rain in the hot sun. Cato stood still and let the joy of loving anticipation lick him like a flame.
He had no long-term plans. He had told Joe that he would go north tomorrow to find them somewhere to live. The term did not begin for another fortnight. Joe had seemed to think it would be an adventure. Cato did not imagine that he would be able to keep Joe with him forever. He wanted to do two things, to convince the boy of his love, and to persuade him to learn a trade. Here Henry’s money would certainly be of use, and Cato felt no qualms about asking for it. If necessary he would ask for more. He had faith that once Joe started to learn his intelligence would awaken and save him. Then, or sooner, Cato’s part might be over. Meanwhile this comprised his task as a saviour and indeed his duty and Cato had ceased to have any doubts on the matter. About the details of their relationship Cato felt calmly agnostic. Love had led him in. Love would enlighten him from time to time as should be most expedient for him.
As he turned into the little truncated street, Cato saw a young man waiting just outside the Mission house. When he saw Cato he came towards him, and Cato recognized him as one of Brendan’s students, a young ordinand. The youth was holding out a letter.
‘From Father Craddock.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ said Cato.
He took the envelope and tore it open. Brendan had written upon a postcard:
I am sending this round by hand because I feel I should let you know at once that Father Milsom died last night. He spoke of you when he was dying.
How are you? Please come back here. Never mind about God. Just come. B.
Cato looked up into the mild slightly inquisitive eyes of the young ordinand.
‘Thank you for bringing this.’
‘Can I take a message back, a letter?’
‘No. Nothing. Well, wait a moment.’ Cato took out a pencil and wrote on the inside of the torn envelope I am going away with that boy. Good-bye. He paused, looking at the words. Then added Pray for me. He folded the envelope over and handed it back.
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll give it to Father Craddock.’
Cato stood alone in the street looking down at his shadow on the uneven pavement. He felt a pure pang of grief about Father Milsom. Would he have gone to see him, had he still lived? No, thought Cato, not for a long time at any rate. The telephone would always have been out of order for that communication. Poor old man. Yet also, lucky old man. He had not outlived the joy of his faith. If there was a heaven, Father Milsom was certainly there now. Requiescit in pace. Lux perpetua lucet eo. What a comforting idea. Only there was no heaven. Did I ever really believe there was? wondered Cato. He wished so much that he had written some sort of reply, some words of affection and thanks to Father Milsom’s letter. He was still carrying the letter, now in the breast pocket of the corduroy jacket. He put Brendan’s card away into the same pocket, and turned down the alleyway so as to enter the house from the back. Only as his hand touched the gate did something strike him out of the recent past. Brendan’s pupil had called him ‘Sir’. He thought, it’s a bit like when Caesar was angry and addressed the tenth legion as Quirites!
The kitchen door was unlocked and Cato went in and closed it behind him. He went over to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror he used for shaving. He saw as in a picture his head, the striped shirt, the red scarf. It was a long time, it occurred to him, since he had looked at himself in this way. He had shaved carefully and combed his roughly cut hair. He looked much younger. There was a ridiculous almost perky air. Funny Face Forbes. Old Pudgie. He smirked at himself.
‘Why it’s you. I couldn’t think who this chap was, gawping at himself in the mirror.’ Beautiful Joe had come in behind him.
Embarrassed, Cato turned. Joe, in a short black military-style leather jacket, looked about fourteen. His face had a youthful scrubbed look, his hair had been clipped a little shorter, damped, perhaps greased, and combed into two stiff curves behind his ears. Cato felt suddenly as if they were strangers again. It was an exciting feeling.
‘Hello, Joe. I hope you like the gear.’
Joe, still staring, sat down at the table in silence.
Cato began to feel uneasy. ‘Well, Joe—’
‘Is this some sort of bloody joke?’ said Joe.
‘What is?’
‘The get-up. You’ve no idea how bloody funny you look. Only I’m not laughing.’
‘The gear belonged to Father Dealman—’
‘The gear! I’d be laughing only I’m crying! You look just about ready for Southend Pier.’
‘I suppose it is a bit of a shock.’
‘You can say that again!’
‘But my dear Joe, I told you I was leaving the order, I told you—’
‘I didn’t believe you.’
‘Maybe you do now!’
‘I didn’t believe you would leave. I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, have a bloody try,’ said Cato, sitting down at the table.
‘And you’ve never used bad language to me before.’
‘If you call that bad language!’
‘It is for you. But perhaps you’ll go to the bad now. Failed priests always do.’
‘Well, maybe they do. We’ll have to see in this case, won’t we. Let’s have a drink. I’ve got some wine here.’
‘You’ll take to drink.’
‘Joe, just stop drivelling, will you. Can’t you face the fact that I’m simply an ordinary person like yourself?’
‘No, I fucking can’t.’
‘And now we’re qu
arrelling just like two ordinary people and isn’t that rather wonderful? We’re just two ordinary men at last. I want to help you, but I don’t want to be some sort of false saint in your life. I simply love you. And I couldn’t say it then, I had to leave to say it. Christ, can’t you see?’
‘Can’t you see?’ said Joe. He suddenly bit his lips into a straight line and frowned down at the table as if he were about to cry.
Cato looked at him carefully. ‘Joe, my dear, you’ve got to help me. We may have to get to know each other again, differently. All right. This hasn’t been an easy change for me, and it won’t be easy. But if you love me—’
‘I never said I loved you,’ said the boy, still staring at the table where he was following the lines of the wood with his finger.
‘You can learn to. I can do enough for both to begin with.’
Joe looked up. He said, ‘Father, you’re like a child. You don’t know about the awful things.’
‘Joe, you’re wrong, I do know about the awful things. And listen, you must stop calling me “Father”.’
‘What am I to call you then?’
‘Don’t you know my name?’
‘No.’
‘Cato.’
‘What?’
‘Cato.’
‘How do you spell it?’
‘CATO’.
‘That’s a bloody funny name. Is it Italian?’
‘No, it’s Roman. You’ll get used to it. You’ll get used to—’
‘No, I won’t. I’m going to go on calling you “Father”. Nothing else makes any sense between us.’
‘But I’m not a priest any more! I gave it up because of you—’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It’s partly true, I’ve—’
‘Partly true! Everything about you is partly true.’
‘I’ve made myself free of everything else so that I can be with you, so that we can go away and start a new life together. We will do, Joe, won’t we—I’ll work and you’ll train—and I shan’t worry you—’
‘I’m not coming,’ said Joe.
‘What on earth do you mean? You said you would.’
‘I thought it would be different. I thought that rich chap would support us.’
‘But he will! Look, he sent a cheque.’ Cato put Henry’s cheque on the table.
‘And I thought you’d still be a priest, and that would make it all right. You’ve no idea how bloody stupid you look in those clothes. All the—all the sort of—magic’s gone— what made me care—Now you’re just a queer in a cord coat. You’re the sort of person I spit on.’
Cato, in sudden utter panic, reached across the table and seized the boy’s hand. ‘Joe, don’t say that! It’s me. You know me.’
‘I don’t. That’s the trouble.’ Joe drew his hand away, pushing his chair back a little. ‘If we went away together, Father, it would be muck—muck like you don’t know about. And I wouldn’t care a fuck for it, for anything that you could give me, or anything that you could do for me. There’d be no joy there, Father, only hell, the only point would be money. I cared for you once, Father, but I cared for the other you, the one that wore a robe and had nothing, not even an electric kettle.’ ‘I’ve still got nothing.’
‘You’ve got a cheque for five hundred pounds from Mr Marshalson.’
‘But I only got it for you, I only did everything for you, I didn’t want you to suffer, I didn’t want you to be poor!’ ‘Well, it’s all spoilt now. I’m sorry, I was thick—’ ‘As for Mr Marshalson’s cheque, that’s easily dealt with.’ Cato took the cheque and tore it into small pieces.
Joe looked at the fragments, then spread them out a little with his fingers. ‘That’s sad. That’s really sad.’ ‘I can get another one—’
‘I don’t care what you do, Father, only you can’t do it with me.’
‘But Joe, don’t abandon me. I’ve got nothing now. I’ve given away everything so as to be with you, and you did say—’
‘I was crazy. It could never have worked, like that anyway. I used to think there were two things in the world, you and somehow what you stood for, and the hell where nothing matters but money. Now I think there’s only one thing in the world. The hell where nothing matters but money.’
Cato was silent. He was trying to think. If he could only find the right words, only make the right appeal—In spite of Joe’s rejection of him they were close, closer than they had ever been before. He leaned forward and gripped for a moment between his fingers the cold thick sleeve of Joe’s black leather coat.
‘Joe, listen, just listen and don’t interrupt. I impressed you because I was a priest but a priest is just a symbol. And I can’t be that any more. But still it’s true that there isn’t just hell. There’s love and that’s real and I do really love you. And there’s no need for you to think what does he mean, what is he after? I don’t know myself, except that I want to help you. Isn’t this something that you shouldn’t just throw away? Are you so rich in love that you can refuse this gift? Why not at least try it? Let me be in your life. You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t dominate you or interfere. I just want to help and to serve. I suppose that’s all there is left of my priesthood. You asked me once if I wanted a love affair, and I said no. Now I say, why not? Of course I want to hold you in my arms, and now that I’m just a queer in a cord coat at least I can tell you the truth! If it happens, good, if it doesn’t happen, also good. You know I’ll never let my love be a burden to you, I want you to be free, that’s what love is all about. Can’t you accept it all simply and let me help you to be happy? You talk about living in hell—well, why live in hell? If you go on as you’re doing at present, playing at being a petty criminal, you’ll end up as a real criminal, and you’ll lead a hateful miserable frightened life which you won’t be able to escape from. Surely you want to be free and happy? We can live together in Leeds and enjoy life. We won’t be short of money. I’ll work and you can learn something interesting—’
‘I don’t want to learn anything,’ said Joe, still looking down at the table, moving his hands a little to make shadows on the wood. ‘You’re always on about learning as if people liked learning things. Well, maybe you do but I don’t.’ ‘You said you might like to be an electrical engineer.’ ‘You said I might. I might like to be a pop star. But I’m not going to learn anything. Learning’s finished.’
‘All right, we needn’t decide at once what you do. The important thing is to get away, to know each other better and find a way to live and to work—’ ‘You want to be in bed with me.’
‘That’s not important. I want to be with you, to live near you, to see you. We needn’t even be in the same house if you don’t want.’
‘You said we wouldn’t be short of money, but you tore up that cheque.’
‘Look, Joe, I can get another cheque, I can get any money that we need from Mr Marshalson. Anyway I’ll have a decent salary and—’
‘I don’t want to know about your feelings and who you want to be in bed with, it disgusts me. It’s no good, Father, it doesn’t add up. I don’t like you like this any more, it all makes me feel sick. When I said I’d go with you, I didn’t think it would be like this.’
‘But I told you!’
‘Well, I didn’t understand then, I didn’t think. I couldn’t stand it, we’d end up murdering each other like queers do. Anyway, I’m not a queer.’
‘All right, I never said you were—’
‘Yes you did, you implied it, and I resent that. I dig girls, I want to fuck them, even if they’re bloody stupid cunts. You’re just trying to bribe me and I think it’s horrible. I don’t want to see you any more ever again.’
‘Joe, dear heart, don’t say that!’ Cato moved his chair and put a hand onto Joe’s shoulder. He tried to draw the boy towards him.
In an instant Joe had leapt up and was at the door. ‘Don’t touch me!’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘You go away, go anywhere, just go away. A
nd don’t bloody come after me again or I’ll smash you. You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what it’s like to be me, you’ve never bloody cared to find out, you’ve just imagined me the way you want me. I’ve had a lousy life, no one’s ever really cared for me, and you don’t either. My father hated me and my mother hated me and my brothers hated me and I curse the lot of them and I curse you most of all because you pretended to be different and you’re not. You tried to catch me and trap me, but I can see you now and all your nastiness and what you really are, so don’t you come near me again or I’ll kill you. I’m in with the big boys now, I’m in a gang, I’m working on big things, and I’m nothing to do with you and your rotten lying ideas any more. I’m in with real people and I’m going to make big money. So it’s good-bye, Mr bloody Forbes or Cato or whatever you call yourself now. And leave me alone, I mean it. You won’t find me anyway, I’m leaving. I’m going to be with them. I’ve found them at last like I said I would. So good-bye and you can make your own hell only I won’t be in it.’
Cato leapt up. Beautiful Joe flashed out of the door and banged it shut in Cato’s face. The door of the yard banged.
Cato, after opening the kitchen door, closed it again and sat down slowly at the table. He started stroking the wood and making shadows on it with his hands, as Joe had done. He thought, it’s perfectly true, I didn’t know him. But I did love him. And not just in a selfish way. I loved him as well as I could.
He sat there for a long time, looking at his hands and twitching his shoulders about inside the unfamiliar garments. He felt that he wanted to cry but he could not cry. He felt shock. He thought, I deliberately destroyed my capacity to help him. But what else could I have done? I told the truth. Perhaps I should not have told the truth. And now he has gone to them. And perhaps it is my fault. Better that a millstone should be hanged about my neck and I should be drowned in the depths of the sea.