Large-Hearted Boy. Part Ten.

The widow led Selden to her own home, a ramshackle cabin with its covered cooking area just out the back door. It was here that the village priest lay.

The matron explained, “Fresh air’s good for Pater. And here I can keep an eye on the poor man.” She shook her head. “He’s nearly bent over with aches on a good day. He’s old, you know, Pater. I’m afraid for him.”

Selden understood why. As he approached the priest he could feel the man’s resignation. The fever and chills had exhausted him.

“I give him a portion of what I mash from willow bark every two or three hours,” Matron said. “And all he’ll have is a little honey for strength. He’s been asking for you ever since we heard you and the young one was close.”

News traveled fast, Selden thought. “Leave me with him,” Selden told Matron. “And send word to the young one that I’ll be here for some time, won’t you?” He had told Geoffrey to introduce himself to the student-candidate’s family and then find rooms for the night.

He took a seat next to the sick man and sat quietly. He prayed for a time and then simply cleared his mind and watched the twilight give way to night.

The village priest opened his eyes and struggled to take Selden’s hand. Selden made it easier for the old priest. He scooted his chair closer and took the old man’s hand into his own. He smiled and recited, “He is a priest forever. Let not this glory dim, Lord, this fervour fade. Always remember him whom Thou has made Thine own Anointed. Keep his heart from all the dust of earth apart, and in Thy teeming comfort ever be strength to his frailty.”

The elder priest tried to speak, but managed just a few words. “The boy,” he said. “We would have him for ourselves.”

“Don’t speak,” Selden told him. “I can hear just the same.”

“Of course, you can. Anoint me, won’t you? I have the oil here. It’s here somewhere.”

“Of course...”

“I have only one sin I’ve not confessed.” And without any formality, without the ritual, the old priest opened his heart to Selden.

And Selden felt the hurt. And he came to know that the priest was actually a bishop, one who left his office when his health began to fail, who had come to Cald Mere because he felt he had been called to it.

“And it’s been peaceful here, brother.”

“I am called Selden, Primus.”

“You teach numbers.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to see the boy.”

“Yes.”

“My sin is that I would have kept him here for us. I was selfish, but the boy’s parents had more sense. I would have named him myself, here, in tiny Cald Mere, hardly a spot on a map, but the parents had more sense.” The bishop still struggled with his selfishness. He admitted, “I’ve become as superstitious as the natives. The day the boy was named, our rookery emptied. All gone, but one bird, who waits for you.”

Selden struggled to understand. The bishop’s mind was a blur to him when it came to the bird. Did it speak to him? Did the bishop answer back? Was there really any bird at all?

“The boy has the gift,” the bishop told Selden.

“I understand.”

“And the boy has a fate.”

“Primus, don’t we all?”

“This boy has a destiny.”