As we walked down the corridor towards the central lobby, he having insisted that he would walk with me back to my room, saying that he wanted a breath of fresh air, we saw the rabbit hopping about on the end of the lead. Brother Joseph was wedged in the half-shut kitchen door, on the one hand allowing himself the company of those brothers still in the kitchen and on the other hand keeping an eye out for me, it seemed. The rabbit he was obediently restraining from entering the kitchen and so he had his arm extended out as if, in some strange way, he was directing traffic.
As soon as he saw us approaching, he leapt into the corridor, grinning in expectation.
‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ he said.
I tried to look pleased.
‘Mrs Gregory’s going back to her room now,’ Guy said rather too firmly, and he pushed me forward.
‘She’s said she’d help me settle Francis for the night, didn’t you?’ His breath rose hot and sour into my face.
‘I don’t think Mrs Gregory should do any walking tonight, Brother. I’ll come with you.’
Joseph’s face fell and he turned abruptly, mumbling.
‘I think I did say something,’ I whispered. ‘I won’t go far – I’ll take care.’
‘Well, it’s not with my approval,’ he said rather sternly, and I laughed as he shook his head in mock despair.
‘I did promise.’
‘Right! See you tomorrow, then, for the drive out.’
‘Yes.’
Joseph was shuffling slowly down the corridor, clearly hoping that I would catch him up, which I did.
‘Like to hold the lead?’
Outside it was warm and night was falling. The grass was already damp, and far away across the trees a pair of owls screeched back and forth.
I could never have found my way alone, for everything seemed quite different now in the dusk, but I was aware of the long grasses and several times spreading brambles caught the edges of my skirt. The overhanging beech trees, dark and still, blocked out the light and bushes took on a rounded solidity, each appearing from out of the dimness unexpectedly. It was even difficult to make out the rabbit at times, as his mottled fur merged with the blotchy shadows. Only his eyes caught some rare light every so often and sparked intermittently.
I heard Brother Joseph softly panting as he led the way along the avenue and towards the yet unexplored wilderness.
After some time, the trees opened out and the path forked; here Joseph veered towards the left, disappearing from view, leaving the rabbit with me. I could just hear him muttering to himself, then a rattling sound and then silence.
I know I called out because I was nervous, ‘Brother Joseph, I can’t see you.’
He emerged from the darkness as quickly as he had disappeared. ‘Over here,’ he said, and took the lead out of my hand.
I followed as quickly as my aching foot would allow and around the corner I saw the dog run. It stood faint and insubstantial, a large wire structure supported by thin wood slats. The wire door, framed with wood, stood crookedly open, its bottom hidden amongst thick clumps of rough grass.
Joseph dragged the rabbit through the door and made towards something, which turned out to be a large cardboard box. I pushed the gate closed. Joseph was bending over the box, shuffling his hand backwards and forwards inside it. When I looked, I saw straw in the bottom.
‘He’s used to this,’ he said, and bent to pick up his rabbit. ‘It’s your bed, isn’t it, Francis?’ He turned to me. ‘He used to this,’ – indicating the box – ‘but I don’t think he’ll like it out here. It’s only what they want.’ He fondled the rabbit in his arms. ‘But it’s not what we want, is it, Francis?’
I ruffled my hand on the rabbit’s head and my hand brushed against the rough, brittle skin of the old man. It contrasted sharply with the soft fur and I suddenly felt depressed and irritable. Why were they doing this to him?
But I said, ‘I’m sure he will be really OK here. He’ll be warm and snug and it’s probably better for him than being inside all night. Don’t you think?’
‘It’s the foxes, though. The foxes get about at night. They do, indeed.’
‘Foxes?’
‘First a cat and now a fox.’
I wasn’t feeling well and my foot was hurting; it had been stupid of me to go, but I did kind of wander around the run, trying to inspect the structure more closely. It seemed safe enough. The wire was, I guessed, six feet high. Surely nothing could get over that. But I was angry. Perhaps I was angry because I didn’t want to bother with it all; I didn’t want to care. I didn’t have the energy to care.
‘I think it’s perfectly safe. Don’t worry. Shall we put him in now?’ It wasn’t just that my foot was aching badly, nor that the damp was somehow chilling me; it was because I thought the sooner it was done, the better.
‘Come on, Francis. Let’s put you to bed now.’
He bent and dropped the rabbit into the box and it scratched and twisted, turning wildly several times. Joseph giggled. ‘He always does that.’ And then he fished in his pockets and took out a carrot and some quarters of apple. ‘Here you are.’
The rabbit eyed us both in the dark, his ears on the alert and his nose quivering and, apparently forgetting us completely, began sniffing at the food. We watched for a moment and then I took Joseph’s arm and led him out of the run.
I made myself do it. It wasn’t easy, because in some ways he disgusted me, but I did continue with my arm through his. He held his arm limply by his side, giving no sign that I was there at all, quite engrossed in his own thoughts, but I sensed that he didn’t mind. I tried to think of something to say to break the silence; it was like dealing with a sorrowing child.
‘Can you imagine why I’m here? So stupid, really!’
No reply.
‘It’s really so silly. Shall I tell you?’ And I gave a light laugh so as to make a joke out of it, but he failed to respond. ‘The thing is, for some extraordinary reason, I started losing my memory. At work, mostly. Silly things. I suddenly couldn’t spell simple words, forgot words, things like that – sometimes I couldn’t understand what I was reading. You know I would look at loads of change in my purse and couldn’t work out how much it was. Not all the time, just sometimes. Mind went blank – felt like cotton wool. Awful! And then I panicked and that made it worse. A bit like looking at an exam question and thinking that it was double Dutch. Thinking, I don’t know what they’re talking about. Not too good, don’t you think?’ I tried to laugh again, tried to take his mind off the rabbit.
Silence.
‘The thing is…’ I began to tell him about the children. Things I had never spoken of before: about the drive in the car; about the red blanket and the little strand of hair across Fleur’s face; about Dan and the boat and my cowardice; about the tubes and the machines. About Peter. I was unemotional, as if I was telling a bedtime story. A story about somebody else. How I couldn’t remember Fleur’s funeral; how I couldn’t remember what they liked to eat; how I couldn’t remember how much I loved them.
I turned to look at him, his face pale in the shadowy dark and, as I did so, he pulled away, leaned over the path and vomited in great streams, down his clothes, into his hands, onto the grass.
Christ! I jumped away, horrified, my stomach retching with his. But at least I did not run away. I pulled up clumps of grass for him to wipe himself with.
‘What’s the matter? What’s wrong?’ I was sure it must be something I had said. Perhaps all of it. Perhaps it was too much. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked again, but he was rubbing down his habit with a grubby handkerchief. I pushed some grass into his hands, thinking he could wipe himself with it, but he looked at me questioningly and then let it drop onto the path. I felt so ashamed. Had I been the cause?
‘Is it Francis? Is that what’s upset you?’ but he was already shuffling away from me, rather bent, his head down. I felt a rush of fury. I would most definitely go to see Father Godfrey. I watched him stumbling on into the weak, low light of the evening, which spread through the widening trees at the end of the path. I did not hurry to catch him up and although unsure that it had not been me that had upset him, I turned on impulse, deciding that I would go to see Father Godfrey at once.
There was absolutely no one in the hallway, but I knew his room was somewhere through the door to the right and, determined now to do what I had come to do, I opened the door and passed through. Beyond the library was another door and a light shone underneath. I supposed it was Godfrey’s. Perhaps in some strange way it was the thought of my trip out the next morning, for I was looking forward to it, that meant I felt no qualms in knocking on this door. I heard the scrape of a chair and almost immediately the door opened. Godfrey was standing there.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I think you ought to know that Brother Joseph is ill. He’s just been horribly sick. And I’m sure it’s because of the rabbit.’ I know I rattled on something like: ‘He’s very upset, you know, about putting the rabbit in that run. I thought you’d like to know.’
He just stared at me.
‘Well, that’s all I came to say. Goodnight.’
I knew I’d been rude, but I didn’t care. His silence only increased my irritation. He was about to shut the door without a word when I turned.
‘I think it’s all pretty disgraceful,’ I kind of shouted, and strode off, leaving him standing there. I don’t quite know what came over me. I didn’t have to be so aggressive, did I?
As I crossed the lawn, still shaking from my outburst, I saw two monks entering the Monks’ Walk. As it was almost dark, I couldn’t make out exactly who they were, but I was surprised and curious, so I stood where I was, not wanting to attract attention. They were speaking quietly and soon disappeared into the trees, at which point, in my curiosity, I walked quickly to the path that led to my room, from where I could watch them.
One was the rather fat bald-headed monk. I recognised him from behind for, every now and again, in the near dark, the filtered light caught the top of his bald, skull-like head. The smaller, rather quickstepped monk I couldn’t place at all. But as I watched, I saw them stretch out their hands to each other. I stared, mesmerised; couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then they both stopped, turned towards each other, pulled their hoods up over their heads and kissed. I shouldn’t have been so shocked, I suppose, but I was and it just added to my anxiety; that this abbey was not the place for me; that the whole idea had been a really stupid mistake. Where were Matthew, or Seamus or Peter, Mother, Father? All gone from me, one way or the other.