him nerveless and despondent. In the end, he boarded the bus because it required too much effort of will to turn back. Slouching in his seat, he stared at the passing countryside with little interest.
The bus stopped at a few coastal towns and villages but at each stop Michael sat frozen in his seat. They were passing through farmland now, with fields on one side and on the other, scrubby sand dunes with thick ti-tree obscuring the view of the ocean. The light was fading and the bus terminated at the next town; when it stopped to let out a passenger, Michael grabbed his bag and jumped out too. He had no idea where he was and stood, forlorn, as the bus disappeared around the bend.
His fellow passenger had turned down a side road, and Michael followed. The man had a bag. Perhaps he was going to a motel. After about five minutes, the man stopped to open a gate and then vanished down a gravel drive. The gate clanged shut behind him. Michael read the words worked into the wrought iron: OUR LADY OF SORROWS BENEDICTINE MONASTERY. AD MAJOREM DEI GLORIAM. He pressed the bell. By the time the porter reached the gate, he was hunched on the ground, dreadful sobs shaking his body.
The abbot, Father Jerome, was a tall, square-faced man with serious grey eyes and wispy salt-and-pepper hair. He took control with quiet authority. Michael was to eat, shower and then go to bed. They would talk in the morning. All he need tell them for now was a number where his family could be contacted. The priest went off to make the call, and Michael was attended by Father Boniface, a small elderly man with fluffy white hair and a sweet smile. He said very little, and Michael obediently ate the bread and soup and allowed himself to be silently led to one of several small cottages behind the main building.
‘May God bless your sleep,’ said Boniface and signed a cross on the younger man’s forehead. He had to stand on tiptoe. ‘Father Jerome will speak with you in the morning.’
Michael showered and then climbed into bed where, for the first time since the accident, he fell into a dreamless sleep, unaware that Father Jerome had asked one of the younger monks, Father Ambrose, to keep watch over him.
‘I don’t think he’ll do anything foolish, Ambrose, but we’d best be sure.’
After breakfast the next morning, Michael met with Father Jerome again. Though his story was somewhat incoherent, the abbot listened without interrupting.
‘So you see,’ Michael concluded, ‘this girl is dead without even one person to care. She had no opportunity to find a home or love, or even a real friend as far as I can see—no opportunity to redeem herself, because I took that away.’ His voice rose in pitch. ‘Because I was angry and drunk and drug-affected, a girl died without a name.’
The abbot nodded and they sat in silence for some time. Michael began to feel the need to fill the silence and started to speak, but Jerome held up his hand.
‘Enough talk for today, Michael. I’d like you to rest a little more and then go to help Brother Kevin in the vegetable garden. It’s just behind your cottage.’ He stood up and walked with Michael to the door. ‘We go to prayer now. Meet Kevin in the garden in about forty minutes. He’ll tell you what to do. And you need to respect the fact that we have periods of silence here. Even at other times we speak quietly and only when necessary.’
Brother Kevin proved to be about Michael’s own age, a nuggetty little man who might once have been a jockey. He handed Michael a hoe. ‘Nice to have some help. Do the beds over there while I work on this.’
‘This’ was tying the beans onto a long trellis. The day was warm, and Michael sweated as they worked in silence until the chapel bell rang again.
‘That’s Sext. I’m off,’ said Kevin. ‘Take a break, if you like. Or you might like to wash up. Lunch is at one.’
Michael chose to work on. In the weeks when he had tried to walk out his fever, he had instinctively understood that physical activity relieves stress, but his mind still stubbornly churned over the same bitter thoughts. Here in the garden, though, his activity was purposeful and his thoughts less insistent. His body and mind were taken over by the rhythm of