Snowfall

I found myself back on the southern shores of Norway. I could not bare to go back to Ireland and so I found a boat to Scotland. I continued my purposless traveling and was surprised to find myself eventually in familiar territory. My wanderings had led me instinctively home.


I continued my lonely existence going on from night to night around the place of my birth. The ache became a dull one over time and it was only the random thing that set my mind to remembering and my heart to longing. For the rest of the time I could go on with surviving, I watched over my brother\'s family, and when one of his children turned out to be a scrawny sickly boy unable to work on the farm, I sent him a note with little pictures suggesting that this son be sent to the Abbey.

I was relieved to find that Alin did so and I went into the slowly growing village to find the boy in Father John\'s capable care. I don\'t think the boy would be left alone, Alin seemed more likely to visit his son and to tell him openly that he was proud of his training with the clergy. Even if he did not I knew that the Abbey would give the boy a chance to prove himself in ways other than the physical activities that were always going to be a challenge for him. I wondered, of course, if my blood could aid him, but I feared to try it. It also seemed that he was born sickly and not stricken by a disease. It was times like these I wish I had Amar with me for his knowledge and not just his comforting presence.

We watched the boy grow up as best we could. People did not go out needlessly into the night very often in those days and few stayed up very long past the setting of the sun. My early evenings were spent lying on the Abbey roof listening to the late meal\'s chatter in the Dining Hall. It was enough to keep up with those that lived there. Eating and chatting go hand in hand everywhere... and chating and gossip do as well. Even monks were not above such things, in fact, it seemed to be one of the few guilty pleasures they indulged in whole heartedly. A thing I was most grateful for. I sometimes listened to my nephew\'s questions and chuckled, so like me, they were, Father John commented on it as well. With an exaggerated sigh that always made me smile he would tell my curious kin the answers to the latest round of questions. I had not known when I was the one asking them how much the priest secretly enjoyed answering but now I could hear it in his voice. Father John enjoyed teaching.

I sent him a letter telling the person that I gave it to that it had recently arrived from Italy and to please see that it gets to the priest. In it I spoke vaguely of my life, leaning more towards things I had been learning and trying whenever possible to speak more of things that actually had some ring of truth to them. I spoke of some of the holy sites of Italy that I had indeed seen, albeit at night and with some caution. These writings brought a pain to my heart, I had been filled with childish wonder and enjoyed the mischief of sneaking in to such places with Amar, visiting great treasures of the church without permission. It seemed so very forbidden at the time. Amar had patiently taken me to whichever place I begged to see next. In truth, he seemed to enjoy my naive wonder at things. Now I realize what it is like to lose that fascination for living and learning.
I told Father John that I felt guided to speak to him on another matter. I was taking my evening meal when I heard a childlike voice asking questions and the answers were given by his own voice. I told him I believed it a sign. In those days such things were heeded and not assumed to be the work of the devil. Christianity did originally believe that God worked in miracles and visions. So I spoke to him of what would seem to him a sign from God, my hearing him answer the questions of my nephew, I was in Italy, not hanging over the rectory window listening with my own two ears. I explained I believed it was a sign for him to look for more boys in the village to teach. God would show him the ones to choose. Of course it would be the choice of the parents but I had no doubt that Father John would decide wisely and persuade even more so.
So it was that a small school began teaching some of the local children in the ways of the church. Word spread of it and soon even the more wealthy were sending their children to the priest. A new addition to the Abbey had to be made in order to house the young dedicants. Traffic to and from the town picked up as well. Over the years I watched with an amused eye how the idea of one creature of the night set into motion such activity for those that lived in the day.

My little nephew, whose name was Baudry until he became a member of the clergy, was the star pupil among them. I was pleased to see that he treated the younger children with the kind patience of an older brother and rarely did he abuse his knowledge or seem to feel jealous for having the extra competition for Father John\'s attention. If anything Baudry seemed pleased to have friends and peers and I was reminded that he was not the first child of his family and therefore not used to being alone among adults. Within the church his weakness was less noticeable, and the boys did not tease him the way others would have. No doubt Father John explained that this was a special task given to Baudry by the Lord or some other explaination to help them understand why he was made differently. Whatever the explanation I was grateful for it, my nephew had friends and companions who looked up to him for his kindness and intelligence. It was the kind of acceptance I longed for in my own youth.

My brother proved to be very proud of his son and did visit him often. I was happy to hear of his praise on the nights I spent outside the small home. Alin and his other children went to church quite frequently for a family outside the village itself. His farm grew and prospered with little need of my assistance these days. Though he continued to thank the Lord and the angels watching over him and he continued to pray for me and thank me for my concern which he still believed brought blessings to his family. I hoped that in some way he was right. I was doing my best to make it so; it had become my driving obession since the death of Amar, the thing to keep me going.


It was some years later, hard to tell how many for me, still appearing eighteen, I hardly had reason to count them, my brother Alin grew very ill. He was old and his sons were grown with children of their own. I visited several of them every other night or so. Baudry had become Father Patrick and had come to visit his ailing parent. There was nothing he could do for him but pray. I listened outside the home per usual.

\"Son, it is good to see you one last time.\" Alin\'s voice was but a reedy whisper, filled with a rattling whenever he took a breath. \"I\'m proud of you, Baudry.\"

The priest sighed and gently chided his father. \"It\'s Patrick now and the Lord will chose the time you go, it is not for us to say.\"

\"Hmm, well I am proud of Patrick also but it was Baudry who was so brave when he left here so long ago and I might not choose the time my young son but I can certainly feel it coming.\" A fit of coughs ended this statement and proved Alin\'s point.

Once it was quiet, the priest spoke again. \"We\'ll pray for you to get better.\" I could hear the mild alarm in his voice. The boy who had always dealt with his own illness had never seen it in his father. Alin had always been the stout healthy farmer that my family had always wanted. I had ceased to envy him for it ages ago but it was no doubt how his family saw him as well. Alin the rock, the steady one, the one who worked a farm by himself since the age of ten. He had help, true, but it was no easy task for him.

\"You will do no such thing. If my brother lives yet, I\'d tell him to cease it also. I want to rest now, Baudry, its time for me to sleep.\"

The young priest prayed for his father\'s comfort and for his soul. Once Alin was satisfied and appeared to be sleeping his son left quietly. I watched him trudge back towards the church on foot despite the several day journey.

I had been paying attention to the retreating form of the priest and was startled to hear that paper thin voice speak again.

\"Albin, don\'t save me. You\'ve helped so often but this time I want to go home. Let me die in peace. Offer me comfort if you will.\"