The Priest: Nil

By Achife Francis JNR

Patrick made a tall promise but regretted ever making it after twenty-five years. Something horrible was patiently lying in wait ahead of John few days to come after he will make the vocational vow before the patriarchs. The police team led by Galdwin was totally enmeshed in darkness until the Crucifix brought the light, then the kids were found.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 4, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469739175

Achife Francis JNR

INTERESTED TO PRODUCE A WORK THAT WILL REFLECT ON THE MYSTICAL POWERS OF THE CRUCIFIX AFTER HAVING EXPERIENCED A DIVINE INSPIRATION. CREATIVITY HAS ALWAYS BEEN PART OF ME FROM THE DAY MY MOTHER TOLD ME THE FIRST WORD I BABBLED. 2 I HAVE GOD TO WORRY ABOUT. 3 SINGLE, STAYS WITH SIBBLINGS.

Book preview

Contents

Authors Note

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

About the Author

This book is dedicated to the Immaculate Heart of the—Blessed Virgin Mary.

Authors Note

The characters in this story are of rather counter-intuitive, asserting that their situation is not necessarily typical.

None of the persons, events are based on real-life counterpart, they are all product of my imagination; save for the war. The story is rather of an Achilles, which is entirely censored on the maxims and doctrines of catholic faith. I deliberately infused the ideological religious belief of any average Irish catholic. Priest hood is a divine vocation and to them as well, an incandescent-religious myth—to the family or individuals, endowed with such call.

Inter-twining with the religious practice in America, I do not intend to judge as to the extent to which these temptation has not been resisted…’

The immeasurable faith cohesion catholic clergy/laity, bond on the crucifix revealed the evidence of tested dependency. The crucifix is a symbol of defeat, reflecting the Passion, Death and Resurrection to Glory of Jesus Christ. Which obviously symbolizes the victory that saved mankind.

Glory to God: damnation to Satan…

CHAPTER 1

The Siege Laid by German Nazi’ forces, in and around Europe’ strangulated all forms of social and economic beehives—aggravating a repulsive contention, from the puzzled European military echelon and some bureaucratic diehards.

At the final defeat of ‘Germany and her allies, there was a total sigh of relief in all corners of the world’s fringes—, ‘Europe, exhaling a greater chunk of it.’

During the time, peace were returning to most war-torn cities; a priest was happily pronouncing two young fellows husband and wife—in the countryside of Saggart, South-West Dublin.’ ‘Making it to be the twenty-fifth marriage wedding in the village, since the beginning of the cold war.

‘Patrick Sunders was a year one-law student in Oxford University London, during the wake of the war. Living with his parents, in a cozy two-bedroom apartment, along a boulevard crescent, ‘not more than three hundred meters, from ‘Grosvenor square. The father was an Irish senior chef’ in a three star hotel in London, but resigned at the age of sixty, to render voluntary services in the Royal British Naval force—as a result of large scale Citizen Force mobilization, in other to forestall Hitler’s onslaught. He rendered his unbiased patriotic service as a cook, in one the British frigates,’ ‘as if the end of the war lies on what his knife can cut.’

During the course of the war,…‘Harry Sunders, Patrick’s father, died in 1942’ in the North Atlantic—, arising from ‘Hitler U-boats wreaking havoc to so many allied ships.

Ever since his burial—his wife Janet Sunders could no longer bear the trauma; so in 1944, she retired back to Ireland with Patrick’…away from incessant German air assault. Plunging deep in trauma and nerve-wreck after surviving a Nazi’ shelling in one of the felled London streets. Down in the village, they were able to put some food on the table from hard earned savings. Still at her early sixties, she looks drenched in old age, judging by the furrows of wrinkles, running across her oval face. The death of her husband and irrepressible distress, compelled her to quit her job with the London welfare services….’

In the village, she never allows Patrick to go beyond eye level: always reminding him that, he’s all that mattered to her as long as air still passes her nostrils—down and out.

‘Every Sunday, both of them will traipse for mass at st. Jude Catholic church; situated on a high veldt, about 2 ¡ Klm fro their house, most often arriving some minutes late after the mass had begun. She was practically devoted and pious in her religious duties’ not minding her physical state. Making Patrick in one occasion, vow that one of his children is going to be a ‘Priest.’

In late 1944’ her health deteriorated alarmingly…’ by then Patrick was only twenty years of age; but has for some inevitable reasons, taken the role of a husband and child simultaneously. ‘Handsomely framed Blond; his silky golden strands of hairs, angling defiantly to the left side of his gleaming fore head.

The fragile nature of his physique makes people believe, a third leg wouldn’t have made him abnormal.

It has worried him times without number, if he could still love any other woman, beside his mother. The thought of his future without her shrinks a cell in him daily.

He did every thing humanly possible, to resuscitate her health, but every day she keeps going worse to worst.

On a particular day, he had earlier in the morning, helped her in changing her knight wears, providing all she could need at the moment before leaving for the parish voluntary work.

While he was clearing a field, around the ‘Church premises with other volunteers: they worked for a long time, staying out long enough to remember that he had to go home, and see what his mother may be needing.

He excused himself and started down way home.’ On pushing the wooden gate, marring the entrance of the small cottage’ he heard the sound of a breaking object, and rushed in; only to see her mother lying stretched on the floor.

‘Also on the floor, inches away from his mother; was broken pieces of Chinese pitcher, which he used to serve her water. With every panic’—he scooped her up with his two hands; and noticed that the white part of her eyes was only available; followed by pulsating hard breathing.

On a second thought’, he decided to keep her on the bed’ calling her at the same time.

‘Mama! Mama!’ Talk to me? There was no response.

He decided to go look for help. As he reached the porch, he heard his name, stopping to ascertain. ‘It came again; this time, louder and husky.

He doesn’t need a second person to tell him it was his mother’s voice. Patrick ran back to her in utter amazement. Mama,’ he shouted. ‘I am here.’

The mother brought out her right hand and ‘Patrick held it tenaciously.

‘Patrick my son: she said with a sinking tone. He noticed at once, that her body temperature was higher than it use to be.

‘Mama, you do appear feverish, I can get some drugs− ‘No’ she said bluntly, the remaining words forming ‘oh’ on his lips.

I will neither take any more drugs, nor will you spend any dime again for me. She managed to voice out.

My son, every thing I have is you and you are to me everything She paused to take in some air into her longs. Remember all those things I taught you, she continued.

I will leave to your care, everything willed to me from my father, the remaining savings from your dad and the little I got from the welfare. Patrick was surprised at the glib sound of her voice. I know it is not big, but it’s enough to see you through…’ when you get back to school.

I love you my son. She groaned,’ by then little droplets of tears have started dripping out of, Patrick’s eyes.

‘I love you too.’ He managed to say.

Patrick!’ Promise me you will never leave your faith. I promise, he mumbled.

My son, you are going to give me a priest She paused to cough −but who is going to be his mother. She stated more than a question.

As he was wondering what she meant by that, she said. I saw her with you, behind the church building months ago.

She is so beautiful and God fearing. Her parents use to be your father’s friends, when we were still in the countryside. Patrick!’ She called robustly, startling him by the recuperative power of her voice.

She is to be your wife. Make her your wife and the mother of my grandson: who is going to be a priest. She added meekly.

By then, Patrick was already weeping, as he sensed his mother, revealing her reserves.

At the same time, the last words of his mother struck a cord in him. For he had worried so much, how he will tell his mother about Mary Flint, whom he is secretly undeniable in love with: and now she is telling him like she sensed his mind.

The mother started coughing. Patrick without knowing what to do, decided to go to Father Christopher’ the parish priest.

Father Christopher is a man at his early sixties; he has been in the parish for nearly twenty years. Fat faced; always busy doing something, blessing, pulling hitting, dragging and all the ing’ you can think of…’

On arriving at the parish house, he met Father Christopher talking with other boys outside the church premises.

‘Father! Father! My mother is dieing; please come quickly. He hollered at distance. Father Christopher was deeply moved. He used to give her holy communion every Sunday evening, since she took ill.

Walking pass the boys, he headed straight inside the dome shaped medieval church building. Moving with amazing strides towards the tabernacle.

He removed a sacred host, carefully placing it in a tiny vessel and quickly dashed inside the sacristy.

There he got a stole, bottle of holy water and a glistening silver crucifix, which was a gift from his parents, the day he was ordained. He had revered the crucifix more than any other sacramental, jealously guarding it against all odds…’ even if it comes from Vatican. Together with Patrick, they started walking down briskly’ half running, half walking. On getting to the cottage, her cough has subsided but she was abjectly paled all over. Patrick shrieked a Mama that halted Fr Christopher. Janet rolled up her eyes—on seeing the Priests she started coughing again. Father Christopher placed the crucifix beside her, said some little prayers and blessed her, using the sign of the cross.

He told Patrick to sit her up, so she could receive what might be her last Holy Communions.

Sprinkling holy water around the room, he brought out the sacrament—by the help of Patrick she swallowed it and started coughing again. He laid her down. After a little while she began to sleep. Father Christopher blessed her again, got his crucifix and start moving towards the exit after exchanging good-bye and thanks from Patrick. Half way on his way home, it struck him to go back.

As he was knocking’ Patrick was in the kitchen preparing lunch when he heard the knock. ‘On opening the door; it was Father Christopher."

Fa−ther! He stammered. Is everything all right?

Yes’ my son—everything is all right, it’s just that I figured out to leave the crucifix with her.

‘It’s good to have it around at a time like this.’ He put the silver cross beside her and left in a hurry. Thank you Father. ‘Patrick said behind him.

God bless you, the Priest replied behind his shoulders, as