He was home and it was hell. He realised that he had made the mistake of his life.
Desmond’s father had died five months previously and he had come home to take over the farm. He always knew this was what was expected, and from London it was an attractive prospect.
On week-ends home he would take the stick and the dog and walk across the fields to the small river that formed the boundary at the far end of the farm. There he would sit, and soothed by the sound of the water, allow his thoughts to flow as freely as the stream, for the sheer pleasure of thinking. It was the only time he had to think and it helped him to keep alive a part of himself that London was killing.
His work was demanding, but satisfying to a point. He had little time to himself. In seven years he had been less than a half-dozen times to a gallery and once to a museum. Theatre and films he did go to; they were his relaxation.
He had done well in finance, having started with the disadvantage of a degree in history, but as soon as he had established himself he began to have doubts that he would stay in business for the rest of his life.
His father’s untimely death had made up his mind for him sooner than he expected. After the funeral he returned to London, wound up his affairs and came home.
The farm had been bought by Desmond’s grandfather and added to by his father. Both were good farmers and astute businessmen. Ballykilowen was a substantial holding of the best of land. The house was a big comfortable farmhouse in good condition, but it had not been decorated inside or out since Desmond’s mother died.
When Desmond was a boy he helped on the farm but his interest waned as he grew older. He found the work repetitive and often tedious. His sister, who was older, loved the farm. Shortly after their mother died she married a farmer a short distance away.
It wasn’t the farming itself that caused Desmond’s problem. The two workmen, father and son who had worked for his father, ran the place on their own. It was the isolation. Since he was eleven he had been home only on holiday; from school, from university and from London. His one particular childhood friend was abroad and he discovered quickly that he had grown apart from the others.
He was fond of his sister but, despite liking him, he had nothing in common with her husband. Things were so bad that one Sunday he went to church hoping to meet somebody interesting. He was not antipathetic to church but was out of the habit of going. This ploy succeeded only in encouraging the rector to call the following day. At least it was somebody calling but he didn’t find him at all congenial.
"Your father never missed a Sunday; he was in church the Sunday before he died."
"I’m afraid I’m not in the same league as my father. Don’t count on me being there too often, I got out of the habit of going to church when I went to England."
"Maybe we can encourage you back. Church-going is part of life in the country."
"Can I offer you a drink?" Desmond wanted to get off the subject of church-going. It was talking about the effect, when he would rather have talked about the cause, but he didn’t feel he could launch into a discussion on the existence of God without knowing him better.
Desmond knew that when he left London he had burned his boats and he was going to have to get on with it and make the best of his new situation. New it was. It had nothing in common with his childhood but place, and place for him was not important. He was reminded of this when he went to see his father’s grave. His grandfather was the first Stephens to be buried there, just over forty years ago. The graves of other families went back in some cases to the early 18th century.
Months passed. He made up his mind to give it a go and put his back into the farm. He found he could work well with the men. Socially things moved more slowly. His ancestry was neither landlord nor tenant. He could relate to both but belonged to neither. He did meet some interesting people who had one thing in common; they were all ‘blow-ins’.
The one person that came to the house often was John, the rector. Desmond soon revised his first impressions and came to enjoy his visits. John too was in a category of his own but despite this they shared much in common. They were roughly the same age and single. Both knew the outside world and they found they could talk easily.
John came often around mid-day when they would have a snack lunch together at the kitchen table. He never talked about his parishioners individually and since the first visit seldom talked about church or theology. When Desdmond did draw him out he found it fascinating. John was well-read in modern theology.
During one of these conversations Desmond asked: "The way you understand God makes sense to me, but what do your parishioners make of it?"
"I’m not sure, but I think I can make the connection between what I believe and what I think they believe."
"What would happen if you couldn’t?"
"I hope I’d have the courage to get out."
Desmond admired John’s honesty.
"What do poeple really want from religion?" Desmond asked.
"They want to be reassured that their tribe is superior to any other. They want God to intervene in the world to suit their purposes, to heal them when they’re sick and to get them to heaven when they die."
"How then do you see your job?"
"To help people to develop the thin veneer of Christianity that sits loosely on top of this kind of folk religion."
"And can you?"
"In my better moments I think I can, but in my worse moments I think the people would be better served by a tribal priest or a witch doctor."
"That’s a bit hard, isn’t it?"
"It’s not hard on the people; it may be hard on the church. These are good people. It’s not their fault the church tried to indoctrinate them by rote, and didn’t help them to face the questions that have no answers."
Desmond was surprised to discover that many of the issues he had struggled with for years, in his better moments, were ones that John had thought out carefully and could articulate easily. John, in turn, was interested in Desmond’s ideas and showed no surprise that these issues concerned him.
None the less Desmond could not bring himself to go to church, except on the odd special occasion. This did not matter to John; they related as friends and he kept calling. After the first day he called John never as much as hinted that Desmond might consider going to church. Desmond suspected that he was more likely to suggest that church would put him off.
Toward the end of Desmond’s first year home he met Lydian. She was Dutch and had lived locally for ten or eleven years. Her husband had recently left her and had gone back to Holland. She lived alone and ran a successful market garden a couple of miles away. She was tall, attractive and intelligent. She was feminine and good fun.
They met at an organic farming meeting; Lydian already farmed organically and Desmond was exploring the idea. Later they joked about the romantic circumstance of their meeting. They immediately found each other conjenial company and Desmond fell in love like a schoolboy.
For Lydian things moved more slowly. She had a strong rein on her emotions. Her marriage had failed years before but she was only beginning to sort things out on her own. She was excited but cautious. They each understood the other and set a slow pace.
Shortly after Lydian arrived on the scene John stopped calling. Desmond went to see him to make it clear that he wasn’t in the way; on the contrary. Lydian enjoyed John’s company as much as Desmond did. He did come again, but less often, and if Lydian were there the three would have the usual snack lunch at the kitchen table. On these occasions Desmond found John edgy, despite his reassurance, and he never stayed long.
After he met Lydian, for the first time since he came home, Desmond was sure he would stay. He had already begun to settle, no small thanks to John’s company and his developing interest in the farm. The arrival of Lydian clinched it. He still had nothing firm to go on, but he didn’t consider that it might not work out between them.
A routine became established. They cooked together one night a week at Lydian’s cottage and another they would eat out. At least one other night they would go to a theatre or film in the city or watch television.
The more Desmond saw of Lydian the less he saw of John who seldom called now, and when Desmond phoned he made excuses. He didn’t even come when he knew Lydian would not be there. Desmond was sorry about this as he was fond of John and missed their discussions.
An autumn and a winter passed and after the spring sowing Desmond and Lydian went to Holland for a holiday and to see Lydian’s family. When they got back Lydian moved into Ballykilowen. She closed up her cottage but continued to work the market garden.
Months passed since Desmond had seen John. One day when he was in the village he called to the rectory. John received him warmly and was pleased to see him. Desmond understood that John felt he couldn’t call in the same way that he used to, especially now that Lydian was living with him. Not that John would worry about what his parishioners might think of that, but he would feel that Desmond had a precedent loyalty.
John made coffee and they talked, but Desmond felt he had lost his edge. He couldn’t put his finger on it. There was a weariness about him. He was slightly withdrawn and his appearance was shabby.
"What have you been reading?" Desmond asked.
"There’s something I have to tell you," John said, ignoring the question.
"I have AIDS."
Desmond began to stammer.
"Yo...yo..you’re joking!"
"I wish to God I were."
"How do you know?"
"I never told you; I’ve been HIV positive for over two years."
"Have you got haemophilia?"
"No."
"I got test results three weeks ago. I’ve submitted my resignation. I leave at the end of the month."
"I’m very sorry" said Desmond, unable to take it in.
"What will you do?"
"I’m not sure yet. I want to keep it from my mother as long as possible."
Desmond had no hesitation in saying: "Will you come to us? We’ve plenty of room. Lydian is very fond of you; You’d be more than welcome."
"That’s very kind of you Des, but I couldn’t."
Desmond phoned Lydian to say that he’d be late home. He stayed for the rest of the afternoon while John talked. In the end John agreed that if Desmond discussed it with Lydian and she was in favour he would accept their invitation and stay for a short while.
Ten days later John went to stay with Desmond and Lydian. They were both determined that he would stay as long as he needed to, and until the end if need be.