Free Crooked Vows by John Watt Page A

it, he’s going to be ordained soon. He will be a priest in a month or two.
    She nods. Yes, she thought something like that.
    He looks away, thinking. Apparently she’s a non- Catholic. A Catholic would understand that a Catholic priest could hardly be called a clergyman of some sort. To be a priest is to be unique, set apart.
    She pushes the conversation in another direction, but one that prolongs his discomfort.
    â€˜This is silly,’ she says, ‘but we don’t know each other’s names. It looks as if we’re stuck with each other for a while, so perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I’m Jane. Jane Peterson. And I’m a student teacher. I’m heading home to Albany for the Christmas holidays.’ She attempts a shaky smile as she corrects herself. ‘Perhaps I should say I was heading home. Heaven knows where we are heading now.’
    He tries to match her half-smile about their predicament, and replies, ‘I’m Thomas Riordan. And my family lives in Albany too. But it’s years since I’ve spent much time there.’
    The exchange feels uncomfortable for him. It’s such an obvious and unchallenging thing to talk about, but his own contributions seem stilted, stiff. He can’t remember a time when a young lady has spoken to him so freely and directly. In fact he can scarcely remember any conversation with a young lady at all. Even a trivial exchange like this feels like an excursion into unexplored country.
    Thomas looks around the small clearing. The spaces between the enormous trunks, receding back into the depths of this remote forest, are getting darker. The light will be failing soon. They will need to be making whatever preparations they can for the night, and will need to get as much rest as they can. He worries about where the two of them might sleep. If sleep is possible after the horrors of the afternoon. Will she want him to be lying close, to let her feel just a little more secure in the lonely darkness? And if she does want him close, what will he do?

5
    A Single Step
    Macpherson holds up one hand. ‘That is probably enough for today. We seem to be on the right track; the approach is working well so far. We’ll continue next week with the following day’s reading.’
    He leans forward, focusing directly on Thomas’ face.
    â€˜That—the plane crash and what happened to the victims— it must have been an overwhelming experience—a terrible thing for you to witness. To be there, almost in the middle of it all. It’s not surprising that your mind shut the memories away. But now that we’ve managed to revive these sights and sounds they won’t go away again. And there may well be more to come, possibly as confronting as these. You may need to develop ways of managing them so that you don’t drown in them, so to speak. I’d like you to spend a few moments holding these memories in your mind, and then tell me what you are feeling about them.’
    Thomas shuts his eyes, letting it all come up again: the half-dismembered bodies, the blood, the terrible, inhuman screams from within the inferno engulfing the fuselage, the inescapable, harsh smell of bodies burned black.
    â€˜It’s all—it’s nothing but horror.’
    â€˜Yes, it’s to be expected that you would feel horrified by seeing and hearing other people suffering dreadful pain. It’s part of what makes us human beings—at least normal, balanced human beings. I’d be rather disturbed if you didn’t feel like this. But it’s important not to be overwhelmed by the feeling.
    â€˜Notice that your whole body has stiffened, tensed, while these images flood in. Your muscles are all taut. Don’t try to dismiss the sights and the sounds. Keep them in your mind, stay with them, but consciously relax all your muscles. Do it systematically, one part of your body at a time.’
    Thomas