54

Swallows and House Martins

After he said goodbye to Jimmy and left the vegetable garden, Bruce returned to the guest wing of the abbey and to a simple breakfast – the pittance – as the monks called it. He now had a few hours at his disposal – a time that he could, if he wished, devote to reading or to quiet contemplation. He chose to think, going over in his mind the decision he had made to come to Pluscarden. By any standards, it had been an impetuous one, but he did not regret it. It was obvious to him now that life in this place, for all the tranquillity and sense of purpose it brought, would not suit everyone. And it was clear to him, too, even after a very short time there, that he was unworthy of the life on offer. He realised that he had been changed by the lightning bolt that had struck him in Dundas Street, and he was sure that he now looked upon the world in an entirely different manner, but there would be other ways of putting to use the energy that seemed to have been transmitted to him by the lightning. He would return to Edinburgh, perhaps after a few more days here in the company of these kind men, and he would find some sort of work that would enable him to feel positive about the world. He had read about a food bank in Dalkeith that needed delivery drivers. He could do something like that.

Shortly after eleven, Brother Gregory came to tell him that there was to be a talk in the refectory and that he was welcome to join the monks and a small, invited audience of abbey supporters. It was to be given by a visiting member of the Order, Brother Gregory said, one Brother Barnabas, a Trinidadian, who had worked for years as a professor of English at the University of the West Indies before he took his vows. He was also a poet – highly regarded in the Caribbean. He might talk about that, or he might talk about something quite different. “You never know with these talks,” Brother Gregory said, with a smile. “Somebody starts talking about one thing, and then gets on to something else. You never know.”

Bruce sat in the back of the chapel. The young fisherman from Aberdeen was there, too, and now, without his hood, Bruce could see that he had a small whale delicately tattooed on the side of his neck. It was beautiful.

Brother Barnabas stood up. “Dear brethren,” he began, “as I rose this morning in this quiet place, I looked out of my window and saw a bird soaring in the sky. It was not a large bird. I am no ornithologist, but I think it might, from its darting flight, have been a swallow or a house martin. There is a way of telling those two apart, but I am not sure what it is. Of course, it does not matter to the bird: these are our labels, and mean nothing to them or indeed to any of the other creatures that we feel it necessary to classify and name. When God created swallows he did not think it necessary to give them a name: He felt, I am sure, that swallows would announce themselves through their very being.

“Seeing this bird from my window, seeing it dipping and soaring with such ease in its medium, the air, made me think of how all of us, at some time or another, yearn for the freedom of flight. I am told that many people dream that they can fly, and then are disappointed when morning brings the realisation that it was no more than a dream. It is natural to think of that sort of freedom, because that is something for which we all yearn, some of us desperately, with every fibre of our being; for others the yearning may be no more than the occasional ache. But it is something that most of us feel at one time or another.

“We tell ourselves, wrongly, that freedom comes with the absence of quotidian obligations. We think that we shall be free when we no longer have to think of the needs of others; when we no longer have to perform certain chores and duties that we may find onerous; when we no longer have to work every day to obtain the means of life. Oh, false belief piled upon false belief! That is not any sort of recognisable freedom, because it is only in the acceptance of the claims of others that we find true freedom.

“What I am saying, I suppose, is that engagement in the world is the way in which we achieve the sort of freedom that will really mean something. When we fix our gaze on the world and see the things that need to be done – when we do that, and then begin to start doing them – we shall find that we are free. Only then. And how does that work? I shall tell you: engagement brings love, and it is love that is the enemy of the servitude of selfishness and hatred into which we can so easily lock ourselves. Love. Look at the faces of those men, those public figures who preach antagonism towards others. Do you see freedom there? I do not. Look into the faces of those who espouse the cause of peace and co-operation and kindness to others. Do you see freedom there? I do.”

At the end of the talk, Bruce left by the door at the back. For a few minutes, he stood outside, feeling the late morning sun warm upon his face. He became aware that the young fisherman was standing beside him, and he turned to greet him. He was called Lewis.

“What did you think of that?” asked Bruce.

Lewis inclined his head. “I thought that what he said was true.”

“Brother Gregory said you’re a fisherman.”

Lewis looked up. He smiled. “Yes. But I don’t think I’m going to go back to it.”

Bruce asked why.

“We snagged out nets,” Lewis said. “It almost capsized the trawler. I decided that it was not for me.” He paused. “I’m a bit scared of the sea, I suppose.”

“I understand,” said Bruce. “It’s dangerous. So, what are you going to do now?”

“I’m hoping to go to Australia. My brother went. He has a small business installing lightning conductors.”

Bruce stared at him. Then he said, “Perth’s great, and there are lots of Scottish people there. But…well, why are you here at Pluscarden?”

“I was doing a long bike ride,” said Lewis. “I wanted to cycle all the way across Scotland – from Aberdeen to Stornoway. I was riding past the road-end there and my front wheel buckled. I pushed the bike up the drive and I found myself here. Brother Gregory took the wheel into Elgin to see if they could get a replacement. I didn’t ask him – he just did it. They said I could stay until the wheel they ordered turned up.”

“Just like that?” asked Bruce.

“Yes,” said Lewis. “These are good people.”

“They are,” said Bruce.

“I wish there were more good people in the world,” said Lewis.

Bruce did not hesitate. “But there are. There are far more than most of us think.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Bruce. “Pretty sure.”