‘Oh terrific. Excuse my wicked ways, but we seemed to get along pretty fine until you started with this church business.’
‘That’s just the point! I’ve changed. But you haven’t.’
‘Why the hell should I? I’m not a bloody Catholic!’
‘You were witness to one of the most shattering and marvellous things that could happen on this earth. Why hasn’t it meant anything to you?’
‘How d’you know it hasn’t? You haven’t seen me all week. Today’s Thursday; I could have sent in my convert’s application forms since Sunday!’
‘Stop joking, Gerry. I read your articles, I know nothing’s changed.’
‘You said you liked them.’
‘Yes, and I said they were factual. Cold and factual, an impartial observer’s account.’
‘What did you expect?’
‘I expected you to be moved by what you saw! I expected you to be spiritually moved!’
Fenn’s eyes widened in surprise. He shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’
Her voice softened. ‘That’s just it. You really don’t understand, do you?’
He remained silent.
‘Everyone else present that day underwent some deep, emotional experience; I know, I’ve spoken with many of them since. They believe they witnessed a divine act of God, healing miracles that proved His existence beyond any doubt, and their lives have taken on a new order because of it. Yet you feel nothing. You can’t deny what took place, but it has no effect on you. What’s wrong with you, Gerry? What makes you so . . . so unreachable?’
‘I’m not so sure it’s just me. I haven’t had a chance to get near Father Hagan during the last few days – he’s avoided all contact with the Press – but he doesn’t look too happy.’
‘Couldn’t you see the poor man was overwhelmed by it all? Six wonderful miracles. The levitation of a young child who saw the Blessed Virgin. In his parish! Have you any idea at all of the magnitude of what’s happened? Father Hagan is still in a state of shock and his own humility will see he stays that way for some time to come. So don’t dare compare his reaction to yours – because with you there’s been no reaction at all except to seize the opportunity to make a name for yourself.’
‘That’s unfair.’
‘I know it’s unfair and I’m not blaming you for that. I just wish there was something more, some indication that your cynicism had been, if not broken, then at least pierced.’ She was weeping freely and he felt a flush of irrational guilt.
He went to her, kneeling on the floor, gently taking her wrists and pulling her hands away from her face. She looked at him and there was sheer misery behind the tears.
‘Oh, Gerry . . .’ she said, and then was in his arms, head buried against his shoulders, her body shaking.
His throat felt sticky and there was a heaviness dragging at his chest. Sometimes a woman’s crying could make him cold, could numb his emotions so that he was accused of having no feelings, an accusation that was often true but only in relation to that particular woman or situation. Fenn had learned to guard himself, to protect his own sensitivities against the demands of others, past hurts, rejections, perhaps forgotten but their marks indelibly made. With Sue there was no such protection. He hugged her tight, close to tears himself.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could think of to say.
‘It’s not your fault, Gerry,’ she said softly. ‘You can’t help the way you are. Maybe I’m wrong in wanting you to be different.’
‘I love you, Sue.’
‘I know you do, and I wish you didn’t.’
‘It’s impossible not to.’
‘Have you tried?’
‘All the time. It’s no good, though, I’m hooked.’
She pulled away slightly. ‘Gerry, I’m not sure any more how I feel about you.’
That hurt. God, it hurt. He hugged her back to him. ‘It’s because of everything that’s happening, Sue. Things’re moving too fast, it’s confusing. Just don’t make me into the antiChrist, eh?’
‘It’s just that I’m seeing you differently. Oh, I’ve known your failings—’
‘Failings? Me?’
‘I’ve known them and chosen to ignore then. Now, though, we seem to be in conflict with each other . . .’
‘Not me with you, babe.’
‘Then why can’t you feel the same way? Why is it just a launching pad for your own career, a way to make money?’
This time it was Fenn who pulled away. ‘Let me tell you something,’ he said. ‘I’ll agree I’m taking full advantage of a fantastic story that just happened to fall smack into my lap. Any reporter worth his salt would do the same. But there are others using the Banfield Miracles for their own purposes too. You know, after Alice saw her first vision and I wrote the feature, a guy called Southworth contacted me. He’s the owner of the Crown Hotel in Banfield, a councillor and, from what I can gather, owns quite a lot of property in the area. He and someone called Tucker – another of Banfield’s fat cats – wanted to hire me to exploit the situation with follow-up articles, keeping the place in the public eye, drumming up more interest than was warranted at that time. Oh, they were a little more subtle with their proposition than that, but that was the strength of it! They wanted to start the carnival there and then.’
He rested back on his heels. ‘You might be pleased to know I turned them down.’
‘It doesn’t mean anything. Two men out of a—’
‘Have you been into the village lately?’
‘Of course. I’ve been to St Joseph’s—’
‘No, not the church. The village itself. All the merchants can talk about is the money that’s going to come pouring in. A lot of the property-owners are applying for planning permission to turn their premises into souvenir shops, tea-shops, restaurants, bed-and-breakfast – anything that will bring in money from the tourists that are already flocking in.’
‘Now you are exaggerating.’
‘Am I? You should take a close look. A kind of insanity has hit Banfield and it’s easy to see why. For the first time in its history, the village is the focus of world attention. Maybe it’s because we’re all sick of hearing nothing but violence, wars and depravity, maybe it’s because when something good happens, something that restores our faith in goodness itself, we go overboard. Everybody loves a miracle because it transcends this rotten stinking world we live in. Don’t forget this is the age of science, where everything is becoming explainable. Religion is nothing but wish-fulfilling stories for the masses, love is only body chemistry, art is a surge of conditioned reflexes. And now we’ve got something that really is inexplicable. Something today, in this time!’
‘But you’re saying the village only wants to make money from it.’
‘Sure it does. It doesn’t mean they don’t believe in the miracles.’
‘But they can’t all be thinking that way.’
‘In cash terms? No, of course not. There are plenty who love what’s happening for its own sake, who feel proud their Banfield’s been chosen to play host to the Madonna.’
She listened closely for a hint of sarcasm, but found none.
‘Yeah, they’re happy and more than over-awed. Stunned and grateful. There’ll be the few who’ll want nothing to do with it, maybe some who’ll move away, but they’ll be in the minority. The rest, I figure, will wallow in the glory.’
‘There’s nothing wrong in that.’
He shook his head. ‘No. But wait and see the competition to tell the media their own personal stories. How they’ve known Alice Pagett since she was a baby, how she came to their shop once a week for sweets, how they’re distant cousins twice-removed, how their piles miraculously cleared up one day when they passed St Joseph’s, how their migraine disappeared when Alice smiled at them. You may think chequebook journalism is an overworked phrase, but wait and see just how many personal accounts of the Banfield Miracles are sold to the newspapers. And wait and see how many “close” friends the Pagett
family are going to have, all with intimate details of their private lives. The whole personality of the village is going to change, Sue, as well as its appearance.’
She was staring at him, for the first time realizing the commercial aspect of the mystical experience. For someone whose profession was journalism, she had been remarkably naïve; or perhaps too spiritually involved.
Fenn hated to disillusion her further, but went on, anxious to vindicate his own motives. ‘Pretty soon, you won’t be able to get near the church without being bombarded with religious junk. Madonnas in snow storms, Madonnas that light up, Sindy Doll Madonnas, rosaries by the thousands, postcards, crucifixes, medallions . . . you name it, it’ll be on sale.’
‘The Church wouldn’t allow it—’
‘Huh! The Church will be part of it.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Do you really think the Catholic Church, with its steady loss of followers and general disenchantment among its worshippers, can afford not to take advantage of something like this? Young priests are leaving, some to get married, women are demanding to be allowed into the priesthood, the Vatican itself is criticized for hoarding its vast wealth and not using it to feed the starving, to help the underprivileged, criticised for not condemning the violence in Northern Ireland more strongly, openly mocked for its out-dated views on birth control, divorce, and plenty of other topics which seem to have no relevance to today’s society. The Church needs its miracles to bloody survive!’
Sue flinched and he checked his growing anger. ‘Look, when Pope John Paul was shot in ’81 – shot six times, mind, an old man pumped with bullets – Catholics by the millions turned back to their faith. Even non-believers felt grief. When he lived, when he miraculously recovered, everyone – everyone who was not insane or just plain evil – had a new respect for the Papacy. The world was reminded of the ultimate triumph of good. Well now the Church has got something even more grand: six cures, all witnessed, a possible levitation, and a Visitation. There’s no way they won’t take advantage of it.’
‘Father Hagan won’t allow it to be exploited.’
‘Father Hagan will be over-ruled. I don’t know too much about Bishop Caines, who’s the governor of the diocese, but from what information I’ve managed to gather this week he appears to be an ambitious man. Oh yeah, they have that kind in the Church hierarchy, you know. Apparently he’s already sought authoriazation to buy the field next to the church and the farmer who owns it is willing to sell. Seems he’s been down on his luck lately.’
‘It makes sense to make the field where Alice had the vision part of St Joseph’s.’
‘Yeah, makes perfect sense. Church ownership of the field will be necessary to accommodate all the visitors who’re going to flood the place. I’ll bet you the bishop will be accommodating in other ways, too, as this thing snowballs. He’s already arranged a Press conference for tomorrow.’
‘That’s hardly surprising with all the public interest.’
‘Well, we’ll wait and see how he handles it. How much he refutes, how much he evades and how much he encourages. It should be pretty telling.’
‘You’ll be there?’
‘Would I miss it?’
She sighed and lay back in the chair, wiping at her damp face with the back of her hand. He straightened his legs and leaned over her, conscious of her knees against his groin. ‘Sorry for the diatribe, babe, but I wanted you to understand that I’m not the sole passenger on this particular bandwagon.’
Her hand cupped his cheek. ‘I still don’t trust you, Gerry.’
He groaned aloud.
‘Perhaps the miracles have changed us,’ she said. ‘Brought out the worst in some, the best in others.’
‘Maybe some are more gullible than others.’
Her hand froze on his face. ‘Meaning?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe some have been taken in by a phenomenon that has no mystical basis whatsoever.’
‘“The Power of the Human Mind” theory again?’
‘Could be. Who’s to say otherwise?’
‘Your ten minutes are up.’
‘There you go again, not prepared to listen to any other argument. Does all that’s happened suddenly make me an enemy, Sue, a child of Satan you have to close your ears to? We used to have long, rational debates at one time, for Christ’s sake. With all this deep, religious feeling you’re going through, shouldn’t you love me even more?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Okay, let’s forget the other alternative for now and accept that the so-called “miracles” have a religious context. Seems to me that Jesus Christ hired twelve pretty good PR guys to spread the Word, four of whom wrote a worldwide best seller. His life story. I guess you couldn’t call me a twentieth-century disciple, but isn’t there some kind of saying in the Good Book about using the best tools available? Could be I’m one of the tools.’ He raised his eyebrows.
Sue was frowning, but Fenn knew he’d scored a point. After a while she pulled his head down towards her and he was grinning against her chest.
‘I’m confused, Gerry, still confused. But maybe I’ve had my head in the sand. It could be that our beliefs are not allowed to be insulated or introspective any more.’ She kissed his hair. ‘Your cynicism might even be a healthy thing, who knows? It’s so easy to get carried away with it all.’
He held his tongue, not wanting to spoil the mood. Raising his head to look into her eyes, he said, ‘All I ask is that you don’t lock me out. You might not approve of my approach to the subject, or my appraisal of it, but you can be sure it’s honest. And I think that’s something you can at least respect.’ He kissed her chin. ‘Right?’
She nodded, then kissed his lips and he was acutely aware that her abstinence had made her very, very hungry.
It was dark, the curtains drawn.
Fenn lay there, puzzled for a few seconds. Where the hell was he? Then he remembered and relaxed. He smiled in the darkness, remembering their love-making. Christ, Sue had been almost frightening in her intensity. Her physical need for him had seemed to surprise even herself. He wasn’t complaining, though; exhausted, but not complaining. He felt her moving in the bed.
Had she disturbed him with her restlessness? He moved towards her, touched her back, and was alarmed at how hot she felt. He pushed close, his arm going around her and becoming damp with her stickiness. Her body jerked and her head twisted into the pillow.
‘Sue?’ he whispered.
She murmured something, but did not waken. Her limbs were trembling.
Fenn gently shook her shoulder, wanting to wake her from the nightmare, but not wanting to frighten her.
She twisted towards him, still asleep, her breathing rapid, shallow. ‘It isn’t . . .’ she murmured.
‘Sue, wake up.’ He felt her face, her neck and her breast. She was soaking.
He quickly reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. She pulled her head away from the light, still murmuring. He could hardly hear the words, but it sounded like, ‘it isn’t . . . her . . . isn’t . . . isn’t . . .’
‘Sue, wake up!’ He shook her more fiercely and suddenly her eyes were wide open. Staring.
The fear in them was alarming.
Abruptly, they seemed to cloud over and she blinked several times. She recognized him. ‘Gerry, what’s wrong?’
He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Nothing, babe,’ he said. ‘You just had a bad dream.’
He switched off the light and settled down again, holding her in his arms. She was asleep almost instantly.
But he stayed awake for quite some time.
18
‘The devil told you that! The devil told you that,’ shrieked the little man, and in his fury he stamped his right foot into the ground, right up to his waist, then, foaming at the mouth, he grabbed his left foot in both hands and tore himself apart right down the middle.
The Brothers Grimm, ‘Rumpelstiltskin’
DAILY MAIL
> Has the Vatican an ‘official’ statement concerning the Banfield Miracles?
BISHOP CAINES
The only ‘official’ statement we can issue at this very early stage is that the Holy Roman Catholic Church acknowledges that a series of what can best be described as extraordinary cures have taken place in the grounds of St Joseph’s—
DAILY MAIL
Forgive me for interrupting, Bishop, but you just said in the grounds of St Joseph’s. Surely it was in the field next to the church?
BISHOP CAINES
That’s quite correct, but in such close proximity that it could be considered within the church property. I should perhaps inform you that agreement for the purchase of the land by the Church has already been reached and that the necessary documents will be signed within the next day or two. However, to return to your original question: The six extraordinary cures – alleged cures, I should say – which have occurred at St Joseph’s will be scrupulously examined by a specially-formed Medical Bureau and their findings passed on to the International Medical Committee. No announcement, no proclamation, and no assertions will be forthcoming until the International Committee is satisfied that every aspect of the six individual cases has been fully investigated.
REUTERS
Will the International Committee you refer to be the same committee that examines the cures at Lourdes?
BISHOP CAINES
Yes.
CATHOLIC HERALD
But the Committee can only recommend that the cures be declared miraculous.
BISHOP CAINES
That’s correct. As bishop of the diocese in which the cures took place, the final decision as to whether or not the cures are declared miraculous is mine alone.