It Is Better To Marry Than To Burn

By Michael Flaherty

In a world where some people still think it's a good idea to take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience to a religious order (hint: this world), one man must come to terms with the consequences of wanting to have the cake he promised never to eat.

It is Better to Marry than to Burn is a story of infatuation, of secrets kept and secrets spilled, of lifelong vows standing in the way of momentary gratification.

It is also a story of prayers that would be best unanswered, a most incompetent detective, and a dog who would give his life for a tennis ball.

This book is sacred and dirty and funny and sad, and as such may not be suitable for staunch atheists, religious fundamentalists, or the pure of heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Flaherty
• Release date: Aug 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301928248

Michael Flaherty

Michael Flaherty wrote "It is Better to Marry than to Burn", and another two novels, in between split-shifts at a hotel; a job he recently packed in to face down his fear of marketing himself as a writer.When he's not staring blankly at a blinking cursor, Michael draws a comic called "andthenidied", studies animation, and is a leader in an independent church, where he heads up the children's ministry and leads worship.He does not appear to understand the concept of a sensible bedtime.

Book preview

Chapter 1. Surprise!

Surprise. It’s a familiar word that really doesn’t do justice to the concept it represents. A well planned, perfectly timed surprise can reach into your heart and touch you in the deepest place; beneath all your stress; behind every barrier you’ve erected to keep out the pain of existence; a surprise can move you before you have a chance to remember you’re supposed to be unhappy.

When you are in love, surprises take on a whole new dimension. The first surprise is how beautiful the world is. Was the sky always so expansively, limitlessly blue? Have the trees dropped a carpet of gold every Autumn? Since when was electricity generated by a gentle brush of the hand? Every smile, every gesture, every kiss from your lover makes you feel like a kid at Christmas, and every time you think you’ve run out of presents, you find another one, exquisitely wrapped.

When you are in love, there are some surprises you can do without.

Aiden approached the door with uncertainty: not of what lay beyond — he knew full sure who was on the other side — he just didn’t know if he really wanted to confront this fear. He could just push it down, out of sight, out of mind. He could just forget about it…

Of course he couldn’t. He could run away and hide — keep running, keep hiding forever — but he could never forget.

His hands were sweating so much he had to tighten his grip on… He couldn’t think about it, couldn’t put his actions into words, some unconscious part of him knowing that he wouldn’t be able to go through with this if he got even the slightest glimpse of how utterly insane it was. And he must go through with it, he must.

The door handle felt slick: he’d been holding on for too long, listening to her voice through the wood. Ella my love, do you see what you have made of me?

She was preparing for a date, making herself beautiful for him. Every outfit and accessory decision was made out loud; every powder, cream and lotion applied, she had to comment on. Aiden listened, remembering the first time he had listened, how cute and endearing it had seemed, the first time and every time since. Except this time. This time it was making him feel ill. But he had to listen. This may be the last time he would ever hear it. Once he has done what needs to be done, she may never speak to him again.

Aiden wrapped his sleeve around his hand and put it back on the handle, he knew he had to turn it slowly and quietly so she wouldn’t hear him coming. She was nearly ready, it would have to be now.

Aiden was in her room. Ella hadn’t noticed him yet, but it was only a matter of time. The room felt both strange and familiar. The furnishings and décor seemed drab and lacking their usual vibrancy. That scent — formerly so intoxicating — was somehow tainted and collecting heavily in his lungs when it had always gone to his head.

And Ella, beautiful Ella, sat at her dresser, putting the finishing touches on her perfection. That’s when she saw him, a pale reflection in her mirror. She froze: how long had he been standing there? What had he seen? How much did he hear? She kept her gaze on Aiden, face to the mirror, afraid to meet his eyes directly. Until Aiden saw it. The face that was so out of context in his reflected view of the room that his mind couldn’t immediately reconcile what his eyes were telling him. Ella, with nothing left to hide, turned to face her lover, a nervous smile flickering delicately, begging for acceptance, for mercy.

Surprise! she said.

Chapter 2. Never a Saint.

Life is never as random as it seems at the time. One thing always leads to another, and to understand the significance of the situation Aiden found himself in with Ella, we need to meet with him earlier in his journey.

Aiden, whilst never a saint, hadn’t always been the kind of man who would sneak into a lady’s boudoir whilst she was getting dressed. He was, in fact, a monk, and his vows precluded that kind of behaviour. Not that it was specifically mentioned, it was just part and parcel of the whole chastity deal. Yes, some people still take vows of chastity. It hadn’t seemed like much of an issue to Aiden at the time: he hadn’t even come close to defiling himself with a woman, in spite of all his efforts. In that light, taking a solemn lifelong vow to never have sex was like promising to never score the winning goal in an FA Cup final: it was completely beyond his abilities, so why not make a virtue of his ineptitude?

Being able to claim that his perpetual virginity was down to his choice to submit his will to God and the Abbot wasn’t the reason he had joined the monastery. For a start, it was common knowledge that although plenty of girls considered him a friend, even a good friend, there was never any physicality to their friendship: no hugs upon meeting, no consoling hand on the arm, not even any playful hitting when he took a joke too far. Aiden stopped going to the pub when he realised that you couldn’t get a woman to touch you even if you paid her! would never stop being funny to the lads, and would never start being funny to him. He did occasionally consider paying a woman to touch him, but the thought of where her hands had been proved enough to put him off.

The real reason Aiden joined the monastery was how uncomplicated monastic life appeared. The abundance of choice that characterised modern life had always weighed him down, so to have it narrowed down to one — obey — was worth all the supposed sacrifices. Every day he was told when to eat, when to pray, when to sleep. When to come, when to go. If you’ve ever watched a prison movie and thought if not for the threat of savage beatings and violation in the shower, I would definitely want to go to prison then maybe monastic life is for you. Consider it.

Chapter 3. Abbot Amberley and Prior Warning.

Abbot Amberley was not a man to suffer fools gladly. On the whole, Abbot Amberley was not a man to suffer fools — or anything else — at all. As the leader of the monastery, Abbot Amberley delegated all of his suffering to Prior Warning. Prior Warning — who quite rightly assumed that he gained his rank not through merit, but because the Abbot enjoyed the pun — had the unenviable task of being all that stands between Abbot Amberley and real life.

Abbot Amberley strode into the Abbey gardens, stopped to smell three different kinds of flower and, having pronounced them all geraniums!, strode back into the Abbey. Prior Warning showed the monks his most grateful eyes for not asking the Abbot to explain himself, then followed him inside.

The problem with monks these days — Prior Warning are you getting this?

Yes, of course, he claimed, even as he fumbled in his robes for the pad and pen he always kept on hand to record the Abbot’s wisdom.

The problem with monks these days, is that they don’t have enough nuts in their sack.

Abbot Amberley had made this speech several times before, but Prior Warning dutifully copied it down, lest the Abbot had found a new reason to complain about how timid his monks were. He hadn’t.

Yes, these monks tend to their duties diligently, and I thank God for that, but when was the last time a monk did something that got your blood pumping?

Prior Warning wanted to lie and invent some recent act of daring performed by a monk, but he lacked the imagination for it.

Exactly, never. Now Dean Whitakre, when he swung incense, it made you feel good to be alive! When Dean Whitakre said grace before meals, you could sense his sack bulging with nuts!

Abbot Amberley was so out of touch with the outside world that he believed that all his talk of nuts and sacks was euphemistic. There simply wasn’t a monk in the Abbey with enough nuts in his sack to tell him otherwise.

Prior Warning braced himself, as is necessary when delivering bad news to someone who has so effectively neutered his subordinates that he expects to hear nothing but all is well.

Sir, I’m afraid —

What are you afraid of? You are perfectly safe in here: put some nuts in your sack!

Being interrupted caught that last surviving spark of indignation in Prior Warning, giving him all he needed to get his sentence out: I’m afraid that one of the monks may have been stealing money from the treasury. And Dean Whitakre thought you were pompous. That dig was because Prior Warning hated it when his sack was on the Abbot’s mind.

Dean Whitakre thought nothing of the kind. Abbot Amberley strode — he never walked, every step was a stride for the Abbot, anything less was to be considered a sinful waste of God-given leg muscles — to his desk and sat down. He let his last statement hang in the air, where it might gain authority as he silently reassured himself that he’d always had Dean Whitakre’s full and unqualified respect. Prior Warning — having suitably fallen back into comfortable submission — offered no contradiction, much to the Abbot’s relief.

So tell me, Prior Warning, he said, leaning in and uncharacteristically lowering his voice, what do we know about this thief?

Chapter 4. Brother Calvin vs. The World

Every Christian has a secret list of Bible verses they like to pretend were never written; verses which jump out at them from the page, truth that offers a challenge the believer is unwilling to take up. It might identify that sin, cherished for so many years, which must be done away with. It may run counter to the culture the reader is comfortable with. Or, as is the case for Brother Calvin, it may be all those pesky teachings about honesty, integrity, and treating people with respect.

Was it really Calvin’s fault that the general population are so worthy of contempt? As far as Calvin was concerned, if Moses, Jesus and St. Paul had had to cope with some of the people Calvin deals with on a daily basis, we’d have a whole different Bible to read.

Take Brother Isaac for instance. You know how some people don’t really attempt to understand what you are saying — rather they just find a way to infer what they want to hear from the words you use? Well, Brother Isaac doesn’t even listen to the words you are saying — he just prefers to assume you said what he was expecting you to. A typical exchange might go like this:

Brother Calvin, do you remember your childhood?

Sometimes, Brother Isaac. Sometimes.

Yes, wasn’t it wonderful to be a child?

For me it was more something to be endured.

Exactly. Oh to be that carefree and innocent again!

I was bitten by a dog every fifteen minutes.

To just play, and run, and imagine you were the fastest creature alive, that you could fly if you stretched your self.

I spent every day locked in the cupboard that doubled as my sleeping quarters, only released for those few moments four times an hour to receive my bite.

Wouldn’t you just give anything to relive those days?

And on and on and on, with Calvin inventing ever more outrageous lies which somehow fail to pierce the membrane through which Brother Isaac interacted with his surroundings.

Then there was Dean Whitakre, whose enthusiasm and frequent passionate outbursts would have marked him out as a substance abuser in any other walk of life. In a community desperate to be touched by God’s Holy Spirit however, he was an example to follow, a standard to strive for.

You young monks could learn a lot from this Dean. Abbot Amberley would say. The only lesson Calvin intended to take from Whitakre’s example was to heed the sign which reads: Do Not Touch The Curs’d Sword of Hafra.

Brother Calvin certainly wouldn’t make the same mistake Dean Whitakre did.

Speak the truth in love. Does that apply when talking to someone from another planet? Seriously, how is it possible to speak truth to Brother Aiden whilst acting within the precepts of love? Was there ever another person on Earth as annoying as Aiden? The way he speaks, like he should have been born half a century earlier, is only marginally less infuriating that the manner in which he doesn’t speak: his shrug, that tilt of the head, the gormless series of blinks.

Seriously, who uses blinks to communicate? Just pick some words and say them!

Then there are the ways he walks — yes, ways, plural. Whether he’s being clumsy and awkward, or up on his toes — hips swinging — but still graceless, or bouncing like he’s on his way to some imaginary dance floor, the guy just can’t walk like a normal person. Of course he can, it shouldn’t be beyond him, he just won’t. Look at him now, sauntering across the courtyard. Actual, genuine sauntering. If something were to fall from the sky and crush him right now, no-one would be able to say he didn’t deserve it.

Brother Calvin considered the obviously rude gesture of walking away just as Aiden’s saunter brought them close enough to talk, but something compelled him to stay and hear what Aiden had to say. It was probably the same impulse that requires you to smell or taste something a friend has just denounced as disgusting.

Calvin, my brother, can I get you anything at market?

Not unless someone has opened a stall selling implements of torture. I’d like two apples, a linen headscarf and a handful of grapes. That’s a handful of grapes, no more, no less.

Do you want to write that down for me?

No, I want you to remember it. Though he had no doubt Aiden had already forgotten. Getting what he wanted wasn’t the point, it was all about being awkward.

Would you like any kind of apples in particular?

Calvin hadn’t noticed it before, but there was something almost enraging about the way Aiden’s lips moved when he spoke. The shapes his mouth were making seemed exaggerated, like he was miming whilst someone else sounded out the words.

Uh Calvin, the apples?

Just make sure they are apples this time. Plums are not apples. At least, not on this planet.

I’m aware of that.

And after blinking more times than any amount of airborne dust particles could necessitate, Aiden ambled off to the market.

Chapter 5. Aiden Gets Started

Brother Aiden had never been so busy. First, he had to work on memorising the Abbey’s history and ethos for the tourists. It would very soon be his turn to act as guide for the people who want to visit a real, working monastery and ask stupid questions about vows. Yes, we do take a vow of poverty. No, I don’t consider owning a CD collection to be breaking that vow. Yes, I am obedient to Abbot Amberley. No, he has never told me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. Yes, I have accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Saviour.

Much worse are those who have a near-encyclopaedic knowledge of not only this Abbey, but of general church history in this country, and, whilst claiming to be Christ-centred and full of grace, are vocally derisive of anyone who can’t match them. Aiden knew he’d never actually be able to match them, regardless of how much study he put in. At least, that was his excuse for not putting much study in at all, and supplementing what little study he did with a few minutes practising his I know exactly what you are talking about expression in the mirror. If you were to look in a mirror and imagine an itch at the top of your inner thigh — imagine it until the itch develops (picturing an insect crawling up your leg may help in this) — and at the point when the itch becomes unbearable, look yourself in the eye and nod your head gently: that’s the expression Aiden practised.

On the plus side, there would also be those who had read a dodgy guide book, the kind which makes a stab at providing interesting facts without actually doing any research, and then would try and impress their family, friends and any strangers within earshot by then reeling off those facts as if they were a sensitive medium and history was