I was waving the gnats away when I saw the monk with the rabbit coming through the arched wall. ‘I’ve brought Francis to meet you,’ he said as he puffed towards me ‘It’s after St Francis.’
It was greyish, wild rabbit with startling eyes, sniffing round my feet like a dog.
‘That’s very appropriate. The name.’ I like rabbits and to show him I did I stroked it and it put its head up as if to catch the tips of my fingers. ‘He’s very tame, isn’t he?’ I was aware of the man’s pale pupils staring at me through watery films, first grinning up at me and then down at his pet.
‘And what’s your name? Mine’s Rose.’
‘Joseph.’
‘Brother Joseph?’
He nodded briefly. ‘He thinks he’s human.’ And he bent twiddling his fingers on the rabbit’s nose. ‘Don’t you! Don’t you!’
He was a grubby, ill-shaven old man, now totally absorbed by his pet, and I, for all my revulsion, was touched by his fondness for this animal. ‘How long have you had him?’
‘The cat brought him in. I fed him with a bottle. He was only this big.’ And he indicated a tiny ball with his hands. He had long curved, yellowish fingernails, not unlike the rabbit’s claws I thought.
‘The cat brought him in and he hopped behind the fridge. But he came out to me. With a carrot! It was Easter Saturday, so that’s when he has his birthday. He got a new collar this year, didn’t you, Francis? He hasn’t got used to the collar yet. Keeps shaking his head all the time. But he’s better today. His lead was Billie’s. We love that lead, don’t we?’ He bent down and picked the rabbit up.
‘Billie? Who’s Billie?’ His head dropped. I must have said something wrong.
Then, ‘My best friend. Kept dogs. Over there.’ He waved an arm. ‘His leads are in the shed. He probably left them for me.’ He shook his head backwards and forwards.
‘I had a rabbit once,’ I said, changing the subject, ‘a white one with pink eyes.’ But I don’t think he heard me.
The rabbit put its paws up on his shoulder, its eyes bulging and nose quivering, yet perfectly at home. ‘You can hold him if you like. He’s used to it. I’ve had him since a baby. He sleeps with me. Not supposed to.’ And he chuckled, peering at me, sort of asking me if I disapproved.
‘I won’t take him at the moment, if you don’t mind.’ But I did stroke him as he lay in his arms.
‘I’ve just taken you a kettle,’ he said. ‘You can make a drink now. Brother Andrew is in charge of night drinks, but I like to make my own. His is too strong for me. We like to see to ourselves, don’t we Francis?’ He put the rabbit down and it leapt forward, jolting suddenly to a halt as the lead tightened, then twisted back on itself and panicked as it caught the lead in its back legs. The little monk unravelled the lead, his face reddening with the bending.
‘I’ll show you how to work it.’ He turned back towards the archway.
Really, I had wanted to spend longer in the rose garden, but I followed behind the hopping rabbit. The light was fading fast now and it was probably time to be going, but I kind of dreaded being alone there.
‘I thought I’d find you,’ he said as he padded along the path towards my room. ‘Father said he’d shown you round.’ His head shook and I could see spittle in the corners of his mouth.
‘I don’t want to leave here. I shall be leaving all my friends behind.’
‘Oh! Why? Are some people staying, then? ‘He stopped and pointed away across the gardens beyond the long walk, a part I hadn’t been to. ‘They’re over there. My friends!’ and there was a slight glug in his throat as if he had choked on something. I hadn’t, of course, the faintest idea what he was talking about and I didn’t ask him because he suddenly seemed sad and I sensed that, like me, he couldn’t explain to anyone else his own reality that, like me, he lived in a world of his own, a world that would not really make sense to anyone else. He was a child and I couldn’t help wondering how he came to be here in the first place. Perhaps he hadn’t always been this way. In a strange way, I wanted to protect him.
We arrived at my room and he opened the door quite unselfconsciously and went in. He pattered over to the chest of drawers, on which stood a tray with a kettle and tea things. He took up the kettle and turned to leave the room. ‘Hold him,’ he muttered, pushing the lead into my hands. ‘The water’s in there,’ and he pointed towards the bathroom and then disappeared.
In the short time that he was getting the water, the rabbit managed to sprinkle the floor with small brown ‘currants’ and I wondered if he was nervous in the room with me. Joseph came back with water dripping from the kettle and dark patches soaking his black habit. He was in such a hurry!
‘This is where you plug it in.’
‘Yes, thanks. I’ll be able to do that OK.’
‘Do you want to make yourself a cup of tea now?’ His eager face said it all.
‘Would you like one? Come on, let’s have one, shall we?’
He hitched the end of the lead over the doorknob and before I could do anything was opening the tin of teabags. ‘I think there’s enough teabags. I don’t take sugar.’ And he chuckled in his throat. ‘I expect Francis would like a drop of milk. He usually does.’ He took the cling film off the milk jug, poured some milk into the saucer, put it on the floor in front of the rabbit and stood watching while he sniffed at it. But the milk remained untouched. ‘He doesn’t want it. No, he doesn’t.’ He turned to me suddenly. ‘Have you got animals?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘That’s a shame!’
He sat on the chair; I sat on the bed and watched as he drank some tea.
‘How long have you lived here, Joseph? Is it OK to call you just Joseph?’ He didn’t answer; his mind was somewhere else.
‘I always wanted a dog, but they weren’t allowed. They didn’t allow pets. We found a mouse once and Billie tried to keep it in a drawer, but Brother Anthony found out. He didn’t half get into trouble.’ He shook his head as he remembered.
I thought, He must mean some sort of boarding school. ‘Did you go to a boarding school, then?’
He spoke between gulps of tea. ‘Boys’ home. St Dominic’s. In Ireland. I’m Irish!’ And he bent double with laughter, spilling tea. Some dribbled down his chin and onto his habit. When he’d finished, he got up without a word, as if he had forgotten I was there, put the cup down on the chest of drawers and, gently tugging the rabbit, left the room, shutting the door behind him.
I sat looking at the closed door and wished I could be like that, like someone who, having been given a cup of tea, could just walk out without a thank you or a goodbye or a word. Just go. But obviously, Joseph didn’t care what I thought of him. It must be wonderful to be like that! Never to care what anyone thought.
It was not yet quite dark and a cloud of gnats hung in the air outside the window in the purple light. It was humid, for the breeze had dropped, and I hoped there would be a thunderstorm. I love storms and heavy rain and wind. I had always been able to get the children to sleep by telling them that it was raining. ‘Listen to the great drops on the trees and curl up like a little bird in your nest, all snug and warm, and listen to the tap, tap, tap of the rain.’ They loved that, and even if they didn’t quite believe me, it was all right, because they wanted it to be so and they would giggle and curl up round their pillows and go to sleep. It was a trick I taught myself at boarding school, as sleep was my only escape from homesickness.
I loved my day school, would not miss a minute of it. Even when I was unwell, nothing would keep me at home. In my memory, every day was either hot sun or cold with a crisp, sharp frost. My legs would be covered in goose pimples and sting in the bitter air, but I didn’t mind at all. It was always exciting and I was full of energy, running everywhere, never walking. I was bright at that school, always being praised and being awarded ‘the top desk’ to sit at. I was happy there. Boarding school was quite different.