Mystical Paths (40 page)

‘Maybe I’m overlooking something.’ I started to search my memory but broke off to ask: ‘Have you ever had this experience?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you describe what happened? I feel I need some yardstick of comparison.’

Lewis nodded to show he understood. Then he said casually, as if the incident he was about to describe were in no way abnormal: ‘Well, it was like this ...’

III

‘I was visiting a National Trust stately home for a chamber music concert,’ said Lewis. ‘The concert was held in the main hall, but the Trust had opened up all the ground floor rooms so that in the interval the members of the audience were able to wander around for a free look.

‘The rooms had been restored in the style of the late eighteenth century, and when I reached the hall at the back of the house I found a room where the Trust had apparently excelled itself in its efforts to produce an authentic atmosphere. I was drawn to the threshold of this room because I noticed that the lighting was dimmer there than it was everywhere else, and the next moment I saw that a small sitting-room had been so faithfully recreated that there were even lighted candles in the candlesticks. A nice touch was provided by an open sewing-basket on the table alongside some unfinished embroidery. For a moment I just stood there, fascinated by this extreme authenticity, but then I realised the room had a bad aura, very heavy, very stifling, full of sorrow. Turning aside I found my companion had joined me and I said: "Let’s go back."‘

Lewis paused to stub out his cigarette. ‘I was unaware of the time-slip when it was happening,’ he said. ‘The truth only dawned on me after the concert when my companion commented on the beauty of the house and I said: "Yes, I liked everything except that unpleasant little room with the lighted candles." At that point she turned to me in astonishment and said: ‘What lighted candles?"‘

‘So the time-slip began —’

‘It began when I noticed the change in the light and it ended when I turned aside from the threshold. Once I’d realised what had happened the markers seemed very obvious.’

‘Did your companion see the sewing-basket and the embroidery?’

‘No, they were back in the past along with the candles.’ Lewis paused to drink before concluding: ‘The interesting question is why the experience happened to me. There seems always to be a link, I find, between the viewer and the viewed, and in this case I theorised that someone had spent hours in that room mourning a broken romance and that I’d been sufficiently receptive to pick up those grief-laden emanations. I was under stress; the friendship with my concert-companion was to break up later that night; I could well have been in a similar state to the person who impregnated that room with sorrow.’

At once I said: ‘If there’s always a connection between the viewer and the viewed, then it must have been Christian I saw because there’s no reason why I should have seen a stranger. And I must have seen him as the result of a time-slip into the future because there’s no other explanation. I admit the lack of markers is a puzzle, but maybe I didn’t notice them because I was so astounded by Christian’s appearance.’

The markers should have preceded the appearance. But let’s put the time-slip theory aside for the moment and consider the most fantastic theory of all. Have you ever heard of bilocation?’ ‘Wait a minute. Yes, I do remember reading somewhere —’

‘The phenomenon of being in two places at once. It’s exceedingly rare but it’s well documented because the most famous practitioner of bilocation in this century was a highly revered Roman Catholic priest called —’

‘Padre Pio.’

‘That’s right. He was a man who regularly experienced all manner of paranormal phenomena, including the stigmata, and these experiences made him so famous that people flocked to see him from all over Europe. He lived an enclosed life in Foggia but nevertheless he used to turn up in the homes of people who required healing. When these people eventually journeyed to see him in Foggia — which, of course, he had never left — he not only recognised them but was able to remember the exact nature of their illnesses. When asked how he achieved this truly extraordinary phenomenon of being in two places at once, he said he did it by the "prolongation of his personality".’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Neither do I, but since there’s evidence that it happened several times maybe we’d be wise to try.’

‘But it’s incredible!’

‘I agree, but when you failed to disclose any markers which would have indicated a time-slip, I began to toy with the possibility of bilocation. Working on the theory that Christian was a monk at either London or Starwater, I thought he might have been psychically aware that you were trying to find him and responded by a "prolongation of his personality". As a monk he couldn’t leave his monastery without permission, but with a huge psychic effort perhaps he could still turn up at Grantchester and exhibit himself to show you that you were on the right track in believing he was still alive.’

I boggled at him. ‘But do you really think that’s possible?’ ‘No,’ said Lewis with the sigh of the
bon vivant
who accepts that the best bottle on the wine-list is beyond his price-range.

‘It’s an enthralling theory but it won’t do — not because it’s fantastic but because it doesn’t quite fit the facts. You’re certain, you told me yesterday, that Christian wasn’t psychic, and this phenomenon couldn’t possibly be achieved without the use of extraordinary psychic power.’

I was unable to resist asking: ‘How do you think Padre Pio did it?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never encountered a case of bilocation. The real issue, I’d guess, would be: is this merely a psychic encounter between the viewer and the viewed, or is it an encounter which is capable of being witnessed by uninvolved spectators? The Padre Pio stories I’ve read didn’t make that clear.’ He finished his beer. Well, that’s the end of my survey of possibilities. Drink up and let’s have another round.’

‘But Lewis, you’ve just wound up destroying every possibility!’

He laughed. ‘It’s plain r
^y
e gone wrong somewhere but without more information we’ve no way of progressing further.’ ‘But what on earth do we do next?’

‘After so much uncertainty I’m delighted to tell you that’s obvious,’ said Lewis, picking up our empty tankards and rising to his feet. ‘We establish beyond doubt whether Christian’s alive or dead.’

‘But how can we possibly do that?’

That’s also obvious because there’s one person who knows for sure.’

‘You mean —’

‘We call on Perry Palmer,’ said Lewis, departing with our tankards for the bar.

IV

‘If Christian’s dead,’ said Lewis when he returned to the table, ‘we destroy the theory that you saw him as the result of a time-slip. We already know you couldn’t have seen him in the past; he was never a monk here. And if he’s dead you couldn’t have seen him either in the present, by means of "remote viewing", or in the future. As a spin-off we also prove, if proof were needed, that you couldn’t have seen him in the present as the result of a bilocation phenomenon.’

‘I’m beginning to be convinced again that I saw him in the flesh. If only I could think why he should have been dressed as a monk in that garden —’

‘If we establish he’s dead we destroy the possibility that you saw him in the flesh.’

‘If we establish he’s dead we destroy the possibility of everything! But no, wait a minute — there’s one possibility you haven’t mentioned at all. What about the Devil? You seem to have tossed him aside in a very cavalier fashion for an exorcist! What makes you think the appearance wasn’t the Devil manifesting himself?’

‘Lack of evidence that it was. As I said last night, it’s clear there are demonic elements in this case — for example, think of all the pain and misery you uncovered in your investigation — but so far I’ve seen nothing which indicates the Devil himself is actually involved. Or in other words, there’s plenty of evidence of suffering but none of a force which could be categorised as militantly evil, and if the appearance was generated by some form of evil psychic activity I’d be very much surprised.’

At once I fastened on the two crucial words. ‘You said
so far
you’ve seen nothing which indicates the Devil’s present. Does that mean —’

‘Oh, we could still run across him in connection with Christian. But I’ve a hunch we’ll be able to write the Devil out of this mystery entirely once we’ve talked to Palmer and heard the final word about Christian’s death.’

‘But what makes you think that Perry Palmer, the human clam, will now open up on that particular subject?’

‘I think you’ll find he’ll be much more forthcoming if you confront him not with the run-of-the-mill suicide theory but with the mind-bending idea that Christian’s still alive. If we play the scene right he’ll be much too shocked to remember how to act the clam.’

But I remained sceptical. ‘He’ll just deny everything and we’ll be no further on.’

‘Not necessarily,’ persisted Lewis. ‘Think positive - for all you know he may be longing to spill the beans. Perry is actually the most enigmatic figure in this story, far more enigmatic than Christian, who seems to have been sliding into a fairly conventional nervous breakdown after making the discovery - rather late in the day - that worldly success isn’t a passport to heaven. If Perry did help Christian to disappear, I’d like to know why. What’s in it for him?’

‘That was the question Martin asked.’

‘And why in fact should Christian have needed Perry’s help it all? The false passports weren’t essential. He could have gone to Ireland.’

‘Martin said that too.’

‘How did you answer him?’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Without doubt we need to talk to Mr Palmer,’ said Lewis, glancing at his watch, ‘but unfortunately we can’t do it today because I’ve got to be at my vicarage for a parish meeting this evening. What I propose is that you should come back with me to Starbridge. Tomorrow morning I have a bunch of appointments to keep, but in the afternoon we can go up to town and ambush Perry when he returns home from work.’

‘I could stay overnight with the Fordites in London -’

‘I think not,’ said Lewis. ‘It would be best if we kept together at present.’

I suffered a pang of uneasiness. ‘You’re secretly thinking I need a keeper,’ I accused, trying to speak lightly, but without hesitation he answered: ‘Not a keeper. You’re neither mad nor under age. But while your present level of stress persists you need an adviser who’s instantly accessible.’

Shying away from this reference to my central problem I found myself saying abruptly: ‘You’re sure Christian’s dead, aren’t you? I mean, you don’t just suspect - you
know.
It’s "gnosis".’

‘Psychics don’t
know
anything in that specialised sense,’ said Lewis dryly. ‘They merely believe. A surprising proportion of their beliefs may turn out to be true, but that doesn’t alter the fact that many of their beliefs turn out to be either false or just plain nuts. If I were you I’d use the verb "believe" to describe your clever hunches and save the verb "know" for facts that are indisputably true.’

We drank our beer in silence for a moment but finally I was unable to resist saying: ‘I saw Jung on TV once. He was asked if he believed in God, and he answered: "I don’t need to believe. I KNOW."‘

Lewis smiled, and I wondered if he was thinking that Jung was a Gnostic, hardly an adequate model for a young Christian priest. Having gulped some more beer I found I had the nerve to say strongly: ‘When I was growing up I hated the fact that if I said: "I KNOW God exists," people thought I was crazy. So I stopped saying: "I KNOW." But then I saw that old man, that sage, that scientist, and when he said: "I KNOW" - on TV! To millions! - I thought: that’s cool. And I wanted to stand up and cheer.’

‘Of course you did. And Jung’s declaration was hardly original; the great mystics have all, in their different ways, said: "I KNOW." But I think the Church is right to warn that ordinary mortals such as you and I should be very careful when we’re claiming to have special knowledge, particularly the special knowledge which arises from psychic powers.’

‘Oh, I’m sick of the Church being careful! If the Church said "WE KNOW" more often and laid more stress on its great mystical tradition, its witness today wouldn’t be so damned feeble. Where’s the Church in the 1960s? What’s it doing? Either hailing radical books which say it’s impossible to know anything about anything or else fawning over pop stars in an effort to be trendy!’

‘Isn’t that a little harsh?’ said Lewis mildly. ‘The Devil never has it all his own way! I seem to remember that last year at Keele there was a very positive and exciting conference -’

‘I can’t connect with the Evangelicals.’

‘At least they’re not writing books saying it’s impossible to know anything about anything!’

‘Maybe not, but they’ve no time for mysticism or the Catholic tradition.’

‘And how much time do you have for non-mystics and the Protestant tradition?’

‘Well –’

‘And don’t forget everything changes, Nicholas, even the Evangelicals. You may find in the future that –’

‘I can’t cope with the future, it’s gruesome enough trying to cope with the present, and as I see it we’re all currently having a mass psychic breakdown, we’re all demoralised, and no one’s more demoralised than those old buffers in purple who are supposed to be leading the Church. Okay, I agree the Archbishop of Canterbury’s a great man, so holy, but we don’t need holiness right now, we need –’

‘We always need holiness,’ said Lewis.

– we need a whole army of mystics saying "I KNOW" and translating the eternal truths into a modern language which everyone can understand. We don’t need the Liberals with their pathetically narrow view of reality, we don’t need the Evangelicals bawling away in outdated thought-forms like a bunch of religious fascists –’

‘– and we certainly don’t need Gnostics claiming to belong to a spiritual élite. But I’ll tell you this, Nicholas: so long as the Church can still attract ordinands of your originality perhaps it’s not in quite such a demoralised mess as you think.’

‘The Church doesn’t attract me,’ I said violently. ‘I was brought up to think it was so wonderful, but the glorious glittering days are over and all that’s left is this effete institutional disaster. I feel I’ve been swindled and let down.’

I had never before admitted such disillusionment and I thought Lewis might be shocked but he only answered: ‘When the ecclesiastical structures are weak there’s always a resurgence of mysticism which eventually breathes new life into the Church – and that means the spirit of the coming religious age may well be right up your street.’

Even in my beer-inspired belligerence I found this a soothing thought. Tentatively I said: ‘I’d like to believe that. I so much want things to get better.’ And on an impulse I added: ‘I suppose I must love the Church all the time I’m hating it because it’s never occurred to me not to stay loyal. After all, when the chips are down it matters, doesn’t it, who stands up for you, and here we all are, there’s darkness at noon, and it’s my job to stand up and be counted.’

Lewis said: ‘Maybe the Church needed this experience of darkness at noon. Maybe when I was growing up before the war it was just a little too glorious and very much too glittering. Maybe the purpose of this current pulverising lesson in humility is to remind us all that the Kingdom of Christ is not of this world and that God has no office in the corridors of power.’ Pushing aside his half-finished drink he stood up and added: ‘Time to move on.’

It was only when we reached his car that I remembered the suspicion I had voiced earlier. ‘You never answered my question,’ I said to him.

‘Which one was that?’

‘You think Christian’s dead, don’t you?’

‘I believe it’s the most likely explanation,’ said Lewis, ‘but as an exorcist I’d be the first to say unlikely things do happen. Think of Padre Pio.’

I thought of Padre Pio. That was much easier than thinking of likely explanations.

We drove back to the Fordites’ house for lunch.