Free Crooked Vows by John Watt Page B

has not noticed the tension building up in his body, or the fact that he has shifted forward to perch rigidly on the edge of his seat. He sinks back into the cavernous chair, closes his eyes, and consciously relaxes legs, arms, shoulders, neck, stomach muscles.
    â€˜That’s fine, Mr Riordan. Now, do you find that makes it at least a little easier to bear confronting the memories?’
    Thomas’s reply comes after a pause of a few seconds.
    â€˜Yes. I can still picture the bodies and the flames and the rest. But I seem to be seeing it all from a bit further away, and I have a different feeling, if this makes sense. I’ve lost the feeling that it’s all on the point of engulfing me.’
    â€˜Very good. Now I would suggest attempting a couple of extra strategies to manage the feelings. Try reminding yourself that these images and sounds are memories. You see and hear them as if they are happening now, but they are from the past. Focus on the thought that all that suffering is long over. Those people are beyond pain now. And there’s one other way that’s open to you, I imagine, though perhaps not to everyone. I take it that your religion involves believing in a loving God who is concerned for all his creatures—even a sparrow that falls, according to one text that I recall. Do you think that focusing on this belief might help you to control your response to these memories? It would suggest, I suppose, that whatever suffering people have undergone, God will arrange everything for the best in the end. Wipe all the tears from their eyes, as it’s put somewhere.’
    Thomas nods agreement, feeling some surprise to hear a self-confessed unbeliever referring to the scriptures, apparently familiar with them.
    â€˜Now are there any other feelings coming back as you recall that time after the plane crashed?’
    The young man traces in memory the sequence of events that followed. ‘Yes, there’s something else. I’m not sure that I should go into it. The thing is it seems so trivial. I mean compared with what we’ve been talking about. It seems hardly worth mentioning.’
    â€˜Please tell me about it anyway.’
    â€˜When I think about being stranded down there, what I’m feeling, what I remember feeling … the memories are coming back to me now. You’d probably expect me to be afraid, not knowing where I was—terrified that I’d never find a way out. Maybe die there. There’s some of that. But beyond that what I remember is the embarrassment, the sensation of awkwardness in my whole body, about the young woman being with me. About not knowing what to do—how to be so close to her.’
    The young man looks up and sees a new level of intensity in Macpherson’s attention. ‘That is a very interesting reaction. Not at all trivial, I suspect. Possibly quite important. We will probably come back to that in a later session.’
    The older man sits back in his chair, hands behind the back of his head. ‘In the meantime I want to move on to another issue. It might not seem relevant at first, but when I think about it there is a connection with what we’ve been discussing. I have to say that I found the story of Saint Sabas—intriguing. I take it that a saint is someone to be admired, perhaps taken as a model to be imitated.’
    Thomas nods, looking away from the older man’s face. Wondering what this is leading to.
    â€˜I didn’t understand the story about the apple. Why would anyone admire him for stepping on the apple rather than eating it? If he’d thought of eating it but kept it for someone who needed it more, I see the point of admiring that. That is generosity, unselfishness. We all admire people like that. But crushing it under his foot, that’s just negative, destructive, isn’t it? He doesn’t get the benefit of eating it, and neither will anyone else. It will be no good to