Father Timothy introduced me to many of his parishioners. I met old Mrs Benedict, who came religiously to Mass every day, come hail or rain, till she slipped on the pavement one day and died of pneumonia. I attended the wedding of Jessica, who cried so much her father had a heart attack. I was taken once to high tea at the house of Colonel Waugh, who was the Australian Defence Attache in Delhi and who seemed to speak to Father Timothy in a completely foreign language. I went on a fishing trip with Mr Lawrence, who caught nothing, then purchased a large trout from the fish market to deceive his wife.
All the people I met had nothing but praise for Father Timothy. They said he was the best priest this diocese had ever had. I saw him comfort the bereaved, attend to the sick, lend money to the needy and share a meal even with lepers. He had a smile on his face for every member of the parish, a cure for every problem and a quotation from the Bible for every occasion – birth, Baptism, Confirmation, First Communion, marriage or death.
* * *
It is Sunday and the church is full of people gathered for the Mass. But today Father Timothy is not standing alone behind the altar. He has another man with him, also wearing a cassock and a white band at his neck. He looks more like a boxer than a priest. Father Timothy is introducing him. '. . . And it is a great pleasure for us to welcome Father John Little, who has joined the Church of St Joseph as Associate Priest. Father John, as you can see, is much younger than me, and even though he was ordained only three years ago, is vastly experienced. I am sure he will be able to relate much more effectively to our younger worshippers, who, I am well aware, have been referring to me behind my back as "that old fogy".' The congregation titters.
That evening, Father Timothy invites Father John for dinner. Joseph is supposed to serve them, but in my enthusiasm to impress Father Timothy, I pick up the heavy bowl of soup from the kitchen and walk with unsteady steps towards the dining table. As is to be expected from an ill-trained seven-year-old, instead of depositing the soup bowl on the table, I spill it all on Father John. He gets up in a hurry, and the first words that appear on his lips are 'Bloody Hell!' Father Timothy raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.
Three days later, Father Timothy goes away to England on holiday, leaving the church, and me, in the hands of Father John. I meet him two days later coming down the steps of the church.
'Good evening, Father,' I say politely.
Father John looks at me with disdain. 'You're that idiot orphan boy who spilled soup on me the other day! You'd better behave yourself in Father Timothy's absence. I'll be watching you very carefully.'
* * *
Joseph has sent me with a glass of milk to Father John's room. He is watching a movie on the TV. He invites me in. 'Come in, Thomas. Do you want to watch this film with me?' I look at the TV. It is an English film – about priests, I think, because I see a priest in a black cassock talking to another priest in a white cassock. I am relieved Father John is fond of watching good, religious films. But the very next scene sends a chill down my spine, because it shows a young girl, about my age, sitting on a bed. She does not appear to be a normal girl, because she has a funny expression on her face and her eyes are going all over the place. The priest in the black cassock enters her room with a cross in his hand. He points it at her, and she starts speaking the most filthy language I have ever heard, and that too in the hoarse voice of a grown-up man. I put my fingers in my ears, because Father Timothy has instructed me not to listen to such dirty words. Suddenly she stops speaking. She starts laughing, like a mad girl. Then she opens her mouth and horrible, gooey green stuff spews out of it like a jet of water from a garden pipe and lands on the priest. I feel like vomiting. I cannot watch any longer and run down to my room. I hear Father John squealing with laughter. 'Come back, you idiot orphan boy, it's just a film,' he calls out. I get bad dreams that night.
* * *
Three days later I am out shopping with Joseph. We purchase meat and eggs and vegetables and flour. As we are returning to the church late in the evening, I hear the sound of a motorcycle behind me. Before I can look back, the motorcycle rider is upon us. He slaps me on the head and screams away, raising a plume of dust. I catch sight only of his back. He seems like a heavy-set man wearing a leather jacket and tight black trousers, with another similarly dressed man riding pillion. I wonder who the rider is and why he rapped me on the head. It doesn't occur to me that it could be Father John. After all, I am only an idiot orphan boy.
* * *
A week later, I have to deliver some mail to Father John, but he is taking a bath. 'Leave the post on the table,' he shouts from the bathroom. I am about to leave the room when I catch sight of something peeping out from underneath his mattress. I look closely. It is a magazine. I pull it out.
And then I find a whole bunch of them under the mattress. They are not very thick but they have nice glossy covers. They have strange titles like Gay Parade and Out and Gay Power. But the men on their covers do not seem very happy and gay. They are all hairy and naked. I hastily put the magazines back under the mattress. I am about to go out when Father John emerges from the bathroom. He has a towel around his waist. But his chest is covered in strange patterns made in black ink and there are snakes painted on his arms. 'What are you doing here?' he admonishes me. 'Bugger off!'
Why Father John has all these strange designs on his body and keeps those strange magazines under his bed, I don't know. I am just an idiot orphan boy.
* * *
I often see strange-looking young men entering the church at night and going to Father John's room. Visitors used to come to meet Father Timothy as well, sometimes at odd hours of the night, but they never came by motorcycle wearing leather jackets and thick metal chains around their necks. I decide to follow one of these visitors to Father John's room. He knocks and enters and Father John closes the door. I peer through the little keyhole. I know I am doing a very bad thing, but my curiosity is killing me. Through the keyhole I see Father John and the young leather-clad man sitting on the bed. Father John opens his drawer and takes out a plastic packet, which has some white powder in it. He spreads the powder in a thin line on the back of his left hand. Then he does the same to the left hand of his friend. They both bend their faces to the powder and inhale deeply. The white powder seems to disappear into their noses. Brother John laughs, like that mad girl in the film. His friend says, 'This is good stuff, man! Way too good for a priest. How did you get into this Church shit in the first place?'
Father John laughs again. 'I liked the dress,' he says, and gets up from the bed. 'Come,' he tells his friend and puts out his hand. I hastily retreat.
Why Father John puts talcum powder into his nose I don't know. But then I am just an idiot orphan boy.
* * *
Father Timothy finally returns from his holiday in England and I am delighted to see him again. I am pretty sure he has heard lots of complaints about Father John, because within just two days of his return there is a big argument between them in the study. Father John rushes out of the room in a huff.
* * *
Easter is over. All my Easter eggs have been eaten. And Mrs Gonzalves, the house maid, is sniggering.
'What's the matter, Mrs Gonzalves?' I ask her.
'Don't you know?' she whispers confidentially. 'Joseph caught Father John in the church with another man. But don't tell anyone, and don't whisper a word to Father Timothy, otherwise there'll be hell to pay.'