The first Sunday of public service was different from what they were accustomed. For one, there was noise other than themselves and a priest giving the service. Mark found it difficult to concentrate, especially behind the curtain instead of in the stalls. He felt like he was being cordoned off from society, like a leper, and it made him almost angry. Conversely, he couldn’t help but be glad that they were not being so exclusive anymore. Mark had come to resent being cut off from the world and he considered the monastery‘s lack of connection to the outside world limiting.
As Mark filed out with the other Brothers into the courtyard, he had trouble not looking around at the people of Christianium who were also leaving the chapel. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the crowd and he looked out of the corner of his eye without being able to stop himself. There were men and women as well as children. Mark realized he was trying to look for Delia, and as soon as he realized his weakness, he sharply looked back down at the ground.
Walking back to the chapel for the evening vespers, something white caught his eye lying on the ground outside of the inner wall, which ran parallel to the walls of the chapel and only stood two feet high, dividing the inside from the gardens. It was dark outside and the other brothers were coming from different directions. Seeing his opportunity and intrigued by the white object, which seemed to be almost placed along the wall, Mark made his way quickly over. Not taking the time to examine it, he bent over and picked it up, tucking it under his tunic.
Later that night, under his covers in the bleak light of the one candle, as he heard the other brothers quiet in their beds or beginning to snore loudly with old age, he pulled out the white object and tried to make out what it was. It seemed to him, as his eyes adjusted, to be a white cap with white simple trimmings around the edge and a tie in order to fasten it under the wearer’s chin. At this moment, it seemed to Mark that he had been waiting for something like this for an eternity. It was as if something tight within him was being slowly released and he was able to breathe once more. Had he been holding his breath for that many days and weeks? Nothing seemed impossible now. He was convinced that there was no question as to whom the owner of the cap was, and there was no doubt as to what it meant. Somehow, tomorrow, no matter what, he had to make it into the woods by himself.
‘God help me,’ he thought, ‘or if He won’t, someone please.’ Falling asleep, Mark rolled over and clutched the cap to his body underneath the tunic. Right now he possessed something of his own, and he couldn’t think of anything else he would rather own.
VIII
Early the next morning, Mark began to make plans for how he would leave Christianium for the woods. Nothing seemed like an obvious solution, but he knew he had to get away. During the morning chant, he was so distracted that he mindlessly stumbled over the words, incurring Brother Simon’s wrath. Initially, he received a look and when this failed to steady Mark, he was knocked with a hymnal in the back of the head and led out of the stalls. At first, Mark was so stunned that he did not realize the grave mistake he had made in being so flippant on this morning of all mornings. If he was to have successfully left the monastery, he would have to have been on his best behavior and requested a special job or at least have left unobserved in some manner. Now he was being personally led by Brother Simon wither Mark knew not, who was bound to ruin everything.
"Lay down!" Mark quickly adhered to the demand and prostrated himself on the ground in front of the chapel door. "For shame!" Brother Simon shouted, and it crossed Mark’s mind bitterly that Brother Simon was just as much at fault for being violent in the house of God and for leaving the psalms early in order to discipline Mark. "Do you not know your hymns?" Mark knew he wasn’t to answer these questions and remained silent on the ground face down. "Have you no respect for the Lord, our God?" Staring at Brother Simon’s sandaled feet, Mark thought he could perceive that even the man’s toes were red in anger. Mark thought something other than his inattentiveness must have brought about Simon’s anger and his singling out of Mark. "Is there anything more important than the praise of our Lord through our daily routine?" Finally Mark answered quickly in a lowered voice, "no, Father Simon. Forgive me." "Louder!" "No, Father Simon. Forgive me," he said this time louder. He had chosen to speak in a humble tone the first time, but not even contrition would please Brother Simon. "Stay there until the brothers have finished, and then I shall have the Abbot speak with you." "Yes Father, thank you," Mark said his voice almost shaking with anger.
Mark lay prostrated on the ground as the brothers shuffled out of the chapel in the still early morning, and some of them stepped right over him rather than take a step to the left or right. He knew this was to further punish and humiliate him, and it increased his anger. He had never spoken with the Abbot that he could recall, and as the last brother exited, he became slightly fearful that something even more awful might await him. His hands were sweating, and his head began to ache, lying on the ground with no sign of either Brother Simon or the Abbot. He wished he had been able to see Brother Philip, who he knew to be his champion. Conversely, he was glad that he had been spared the sight of Philip’s face, when he saw his favorite pupil lying on the ground, humiliated. There would be no one to save him now.
It seemed in Mark’s estimation to have been a least an hour since the last brother had passed, when a set of feet came up next to him and he could just see the edge of a black robe. Seeing the black robe, Mark knew that the Abbot stood towering above him, and he knew not whether he should acknowledge this fact or not. "Brother Mark, please stand." Mark stood up, but kept his head down. "I have spoken with Brother Simon, who has informed me that you were negligent during this morning’s chants." "Yes, Father." "What has brought about this turn towards negligence? I am told it has been a trend. You were not, I understand, always of this disposition." Mark thought of Philip and imagined his vain attempts to support Mark: he inwardly acknowledged that at this moment felt he had done little to earn such generous patronage.
He knew not how to answer the Abbot and hoped silence would be expected or at least accepted as some show of respect and subservience. "Have you served penance enough Brother Mark?" He knew enough not to answer in the affirmative, but could not make himself answer ‘no’ and doom himself for at least the rest of the day. "That is not for me to decide, Father." "That is correct. You are done making any sort of decisions for now. Come with me."
Mark followed, head down as the Abbot led him across the inner courtyard towards his chambers. Their shoes made no sounds on the large slate stones of the courtyard except for a hollow low booming at times. A thought came to Mark, which turned him white with fear: inside his tunic against his hose was Delia’s cap. He carried it with him in hopes that he might return it to her, and also because of the sensation having it with him gave him. Furthermore, he had thought it too risky to leave the cap under the mattress of his bed. Now, he worried that he was to be beaten, and upon the removal of his tunic the Abbot would find the woman’s cap; Mark shuttered to think what would become of him then, as it seemed to indicate evidence of the guilt of a sin, which Mark had not committed. Mark contemplated reaching under his tunic and throwing away the cap, but he was afraid to even glance around to glimpse sight of other brothers. Despite his fears, Mark also couldn’t bring himself to part with the cap unless it was by force.
Walking after the Abbot, he realized that if the cap was to be taken away from him, he would have to react violently. Mark, raised within the peaceful confines of the monastery was unused to violence, and was taught to abhor it. Only as a child did he receive slaps or mild beatings, as most of the Brothers were not as quick as Brother Simon was to use force. Therefore, this emergence within Mark of feelings of hostility and simmering rage were something entirely new, and due to the strength of his feelings, he did not question them.
The Abbot opened the main door to his own apartments, which consisted of an entire house. Only deacons of the monastery, such as Philip, or guests were ever invited within to dine or discuss theology, but it appeared that the Abbot meant to have Mark follow him inside. Mark paused on the steps in case he misunderstood, until the Abbot turned to him and beckoned. "Come inside Brother Mark. I have something I would like you to do." Mark shuffled in, and even in his fear managed to catch a glimpse of the more sumptuous surroundings of the Abbot’s abode. "I understand that you once were a great laborer, especially solitarily." "I found it fulfilling," Mark answered with as much humility and courage as he could compose. "Ah, yes, this is what was supposed. I wanted to hear as much from you. However, you have not accomplished many of your tasks of late and this was also due to your change of interests and lack of enthusiasm." Mark bowed his head lower. "Would you care to explain this to me? Or is this directly connected to your slackened attention to God’s work this morning? Have we a crisis of conviction?"
Mark realized that Brother Simon had painted him as the worst sort and the Abbot might even be afraid of Mark’s influence, thus bringing him here to this private place. "Am I to understand that where you once found fulfillment, you find it no longer? Where then, Brother Mark, do you find your spiritual fulfillment? How do you serve God daily?" The Abbot’s voice rose until it was almost a shout. Mark, feeling entirely out of control, prostrated himself at the Abbot’s feet. "Forgive me, Father." "You are of an age, where one living thus long within our monastery should have found his special calling. You worry me, Brother Mark. You worry many others. Your example to the other juniors is not a good one." "Forgive me, Father," Mark helplessly repeated. "What is to be done with you?"
The Abbot began thoughtfully to pace the room, and Mark remained on the floor face down. At length, the Abbot sat in a high-backed wooden chair bolt upright and stared at Mark. "I am not a believer in corporeal punishment for those like yourself. I do not believe it cements the believer to his beliefs. This may work in disciplining children, but you are past this point. You must be reached using different methods. I am a strong believer in the study of religion for the brothers. While you showed promise as a laborer, I allowed this since it seemed to be your particular calling. However, you have failed in this mode, and now I shall turn you over completely to contemplative studies."
Mark remained silent and his mind raced. Obviously Brother Simon had recommended a physical punishment, while the Abbot and possibly Brother Philip sought a different course of action. He was still unclear what that new course would be, however. The Abbot, who had paused, began to cough violently, and Mark thoughtlessly glanced up at the withered white man bent over in the chair, before prostrating himself again quickly. The Abbot regained composure. "You are to study here, copying texts under my guidance half the week, and then you are to do the same with Brother Philip and the other juniors for the remainder of the week. I expect a marked improvement in your behavior or other measures will have to be undertaken." "Yes, Father." "I will not having you disrupting the other juniors in the middle of their studies today however, so go to Brother Osbert, who will give you an outdoor task…your last for quite awhile." "Yes, Father," Mark said, standing in a slumped position and walking out the door.
Mark half ran towards the gardens, where he knew Brother Osbert to be working as usual with a small group of brothers. As he approached, he slowed and dropped his head. Brother Osbert looked up as Mark came near and he appeared surprised. Mark took this as a good sign: he was not aware that Mark was to work for him today, and Mark thought perhaps he could misrepresent the orders the Abbot had issued as much as he liked.
"Brother Osbert," he said as a greeting. "Brother Mark…what be you doing on this ‘ere part of the compound today?" Brother Osbert was from the northern section of Ireland and spoke differently than anyone Mark knew. "The Abbot sends me to ask what needs work among the grounds." "I have enough of these brothers here," he explained pointing back at the men digging slowly. His face was red and his hands were dark with earth. "Is there anyone in the fields today then?" "No, not that I know of, unless on separate orders, although I’m not sure you should be a going there." "The fields don’t need working, you’re right," Mark said dodging Osbert’s implied astonishment that Mark should be asking for a solitary assignment on such a day. By ignoring the strangeness of the request, Mark hoped to convince Osbert that all was well, and it appeared to work, as Mark’s next suggestion was met with an affirmative. "What about fire wood? We’re going to need enough of that coming on, and no one ever tends to it until the last moment. I can go to the woods and make use of myself in that manner." "Aye, good idea Brother Mark. You go there, and tell the gatekeeper that I sent you."
Mark walked off without reply, slowly increasing his pace as he approached the outer wall’s gate. As he came to the gate, the old brother bent forward from his leaning place against the stone wall and smiled a wrinkled old smile at Mark. The gatekeeper rarely attended the early morning service, being too old and of better use to the monastery at the gate. His morning fire was out, and Mark glanced at the sky to see how late it was in the day. It was not yet noon, and Mark realized that he had been relatively lucky enough not to have wasted too much time. He approached Brother Alfred and bowed in recognition. "How be ye this morning, Brother Mark?" he slowly asked, seeming glad to see the long absent Mark. "I am fine this morning, Brother Alfred, and how may I find you?" "Well enough." "I am to fetch firewood, sent on Brother Osbert’s orders," Mark said, but even as he said this, Brother Alfred began waving him through with the same smile. "God bless you," Mark called.
Mark hurried along the dirt path and came to the woods, following the parallel path until he reached the end of the monastery’s holdings. He began stepping into the underbrush, scanning the woods for the sight of the slight frame of Delia against the tall dark trees and green foliage. Delia had always found him, but now he had to find her. Despite the improbability of his meeting with her, he was not at all daunted by the task, as he still felt her cap and he was certain that she had left it for him as a sign. He had not walked far, when he saw her sitting on one of their favorite trunks, and instead of rushing forward as he had imagined in his mind he would do, he stood still, unable to move forward. He merely looked at her from maybe twenty feet away. She sat in the partial sunlight, her dark hair peeping out from under a white moppet hat. She was dressed in light blue with a white apron over her lap. She had seen him coming and was staring right back at him. Mark came out of his trance like state and moved slowly towards her. She looked down in her lap. Reaching her spot, he stood above her for only a moment, before being gripped by an urge, he sat beside her and put his arms around her.
Never had Mark initiated any such contact with Delia, and while Delia herself never appeared uncomfortable with touch, she went stiff at this new development. Sensing this, Mark let his arms slip. "Mark…" "You stopped coming." Delia looked up into his eyes, which seemed to be brimming over, but Delia was unable to tell with what emotion. "I told you…I told you I couldn’t stay like this." "I couldn’t even barely manage to come today, Delia," Mark pleaded, sensing that Delia was as upset as himself. Hearing Mark say her name for only the second time ever made Delia begin to cry, and Mark stood up, almost frightened by her reaction. Little boys cried, but Mark had never seen anyone else do so. "Are you all right?" Delia wiped at her eyes. "I’m glad you came, Mark."
He slowly sat back down, and she leaned against his shoulder slightly. "I have something of yours…" "My cap. I prayed that you would find it. Although, I didn’t dare hope you would." "You did place it there then?" She nodded. "I was waiting you know." "Waiting?" Delia asked. "I didn’t know it, but I was waiting for you, something like that I guess." Delia weakly smiled. "It’s so hard Mark. I thought perhaps you and I…well, I didn’t really know what to expect, but just knowing that you…" Mark was baffled and didn’t understand what she was trying to say. "I want to understand," he said taking her hand, encouraging her to go on, "we’re friends, you and I…please." His last words seemed to undo almost as much as much as his first words had done to make her feel comfortable.
"When I met you, the first time, I was struck by you…I can’t really explain why to you Mark, because you would be so appalled. I know that you don’t value that sort of thing the way you have been raised. I don’t want you to think any less of me." Mark knit his eyebrows, but continued to hold her hand. "While I knew you to be a monk, I wanted to know more…about you and everything, and more than…you came to be my friend, as you say. But Mark!" she said putting her head down and sighing before continuing. "I hoped that perhaps you felt the way I did. I know I was wrong. I didn’t mean to do anything awful, honestly. I’m not like that. I may have entertained sinful thoughts, but I did not intend on having you do likewise. I believed that if I could have just known that you felt the same way, then that would have given me some peace. But then, the last time I saw you, you gave me no hint of such an understanding, and I knew I couldn‘t keep coming here like this. I’ve been trying, rather unsuccessfully to forget you ever since." Delia looked away as her eyes began to fill up with tears, and Mark sat silently trying to make sense of everything Delia had said.
"Delia," Mark began slowly, "I’m a terrible failure at this…I wasn’t raised to know how to feel this way, so forgive me if I confuse things, but may I ask you some things?" Delia nodded. "When I saw you for the first time, I was captivated by your beauty and your spirit, that is to say, is this what you mean when you say you were struck by me…did you find me…" Mark could not finish, feeling certain that such a question revealed a sinful pride. Delia squeezed his hand, "so, you do understand." Mark nodded. "And I have come to think of you as the dearest person in my acquaintance…someone I value more than anything. I know not how else to describe it, but I would do wrong, as I have done today, so that I could be with you." Delia began to cry again, but this time threw her arms around Mark. "I didn’t know you understood," she cried, but with definite happiness. Mark was only slightly confused by the fact that he himself did not understand his feelings, yet Delia seemed to have just made perfect sense of them and agreed with them. Delia leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder, and he reached up touching her face with his hand.
"I’m not happy," Mark said, thinking that Delia had once asked him that very question. Delia sat back up and looked at him with sympathy. "I’m not either Mark." Her statement surprised him. "You aren’t?" "No, how can I be?" Mark was not sure. "I was happy before, Delia, or if I wasn’t, it didn’t matter." This seemed to Delia an awful realization, and she quickly took up his hand squeezing it. "I’m sorry if you are unhappy, but for me it shouldn’t matter. I’m told it is rather wrong to seek personal happiness in this life, Delia." Delia looked down at the ground wordlessly, before looking up with command: "It isn’t wrong Mark. It isn’t wrong to want to be happy. To seek happiness isn’t a sin. Love isn’t a sin."
Something inside Mark broke and fell off the shelf within him; something had been lifted from his eyes that had been obscuring his view. Mark had no idea until that moment that Delia loved him, loved him like a man and a woman do when they decide to marry. He had no basis for understanding these feelings without them being very clearly presented to him. He had not guessed that Delia might love him and had never known until then that he loved Delia as well. He leaned forward and kissed Delia. Afterwards he drew back slightly, but they both kept their eyes closed for a moment, until both found their breath and thoughts again.
They stayed together all the afternoon. Mark held Delia close and they spoke to each other in hushed voices, unaware of the time or their place on earth. Abruptly, observing how dark the forest floor had become, Mark drew in breath. "I am supposed to be back by now." Delia looked at him fearfully and didn’t loosen her grip around his waist. "Delia…I should be back by now," he said, sounding desperate for he knew what awaited him was not to be pleasant. "Mark, please…" she pleaded trailing off. Mark looked at her in the dimmed light and she looked so sweetly back at him that it nearly broke his heart and spirit. "Don’t be afraid, please. Don’t look so frightened, Delia." He stood up, softly disengaging himself from her. She had no idea what awaited him. "What will become of us Mark? Mark, you must tell me this, Mark…" He stopped and wishing to hurry back, kissed her lightly on the forehead. "No one need know. We won’t be found out." Delia dropped her hands to her side as he said this, and watched him hurry away.
