The Gathering: Part One

 

The crowd walked, shoulder-to-shoulder along the narrow road.

The elderly folk struggled on the incline, and a child moaned and complained to her mother that her legs were sore. The mother took the girls hand, gave it a sharp squeeze, and whispered something in her ear. For the remainder of the trek, the girl was quiet.

It was a slow torrent folks, dressed in black suits and black dresses. Finn looked around him. Familiar faces. No names.

Beside him was his ex-girlfriend, Sara.

You didn’t have to come, she said.

Well I thought I’d show my face, he said.

I appreciate it, Finn. Really.

The road closed in further, and trees stooped lazily overhead. There wasn’t much chatter, and the only sound came from the crack and crunch of pineneedles underfoot. 

Finn looked around now and could see the carpark far below. The sun reflected from the grills and mirrors and metal frames and printed colourful patterns in his vision. Up ahead, the church steeple was in sight. It rose stark against the pale blue sky like some crooked finger erected towards the heavens and clouds rushed along behind it. 

So you two are back again? A voice from behind them.

Finn and Sara turned to a middle aged man. Beads of sweat danced on the mans brow brow, and his breath rattled harshly. 

We aren’t, Sara said. Finn’s just showing his face.

Finn nodded and turned back around. 

You really shouldn’t have come, she whispered to him. 

It’s the least I could do.

 

The road took a wide berth around a bend and led through the rusted gates of the church grounds. The crowd filed in the narrow opening one by one with their heads bowed and hands clasped and again all was silent apart from the gate which creaked in the breeze.

On the inside of the grounds, a priest stood to greet the congregation. He nodded to folks as they shambled past and shook the hands of some men and women.

He was a slim man, old with greyed hair and greying skin.

He directed the stream along towards the great mahogany doors of the church, but it was hardly necessary.

Sara and Finn squeezed through the gate and greeted the priest. 

The priest looked Finn up and down and said, I didn’t know Sara had a man.

We’re not together, she said. Not anymore.

The priest smiled. You’re very welcome here, sir.

Thank you, Father. 

The pair continued onwards, until the priest lightly tapped Sara on the shoulder and called her back. Finn stood, hands in his pockets, as they talked low. The remainder of the crowd idled past, paying no attention to Finn. Looking through him towards the church.

The priest finished talking with Sara and turned to close the gate and hoisted the age-worn lock across it and it grated harshly as the rust flaked from the metal. He brushed his hands together and followed them inside.

 

It was much cooler. Footsteps echoed on the polished wood of the floor as people found their seats and shuffled awkwardly past each other and incense hung in the air. Somewhere at the front, near the altar which was overlooked by a statue of Christ on the cross, a child began to cry.

I’ll have to go to the front, Sara said.

That’s alright. I’ll stand back here.

And thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.

So you’ve said a thousand times.

Sara clasped his arm gently, looking up at him. You don’t have to stay.

She turned and walked along the aisle towards her family at the front, and he watched her.

Finn found a seat by the door, alone. Candles burned in the corner beside him, and a woman began singing hymns from somewhere he could not see. 

Finn raised his head above the sea of other heads and could see the coffin at the foot of the altar. Even from such a distance, he could see the waxy, sodden skin of the deceased woman.

He’d never met her.  

The child continued to cry, and was buried in the arm of a man who’s white shirt was now soaked through with tears.

An elderly man shuffled through the doors behind Finn, looked around, and sat down beside him. It seemed that every bone in his body cracked and snapped as he lowered himself onto the wooden bench.

Cleamhnas brónach, the man said.

Sorry?

Is fuath liom na rudaí seo.

I don’t speak the tongue.

The old man scoffed. You’re not from here then.

Naw.

Where are you from?

You wouldn’t know it. Derry direction.

I know it. 

Up ahead, there was a great outburst of laughter in the front row from a group of men. They nudged at each other and looked around guiltily. The child who was in such despair just moments ago had now been let loose, and teetered along the aisle, staring shyly up at the herd of new and familiar faces. 

You knew her? The old man said, nodding at the coffin.

I’m with the granddaughter. 

Right.

The singing voice still echoed around the walls. She sang of The Lord’s shepherds and promises of salvation. Finn looked around again to find the source of the voice, to no avail.

All rise, the priest said. He stood on the altar, his arms outstretched not unlike the marble effigecy behind him.

Finn stood. The old man struggled to his feet, and Finn helped him.

 

After a few minutes, Finn felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He’d have knocked it off, but the thick scent of incense and tightly packed seats and too-high ceiling and too-wide walls saw him breathing in short, sharp breaths. He had unbuttoned the top of his shirt. The coolness of the room had seemed to fade, and the heat of the day poured in from the colour stained windows in harsh beams and cast red and yellow and green patches across the wooden floor.

He rose up, shuffled across in the opposite direction of the old man and walked around to the doors of the church. 

Hello, he held the phone to his ear. 

Finn? His friend said.

What’s up?

Where are you?

I’m at, he paused. I’m at a funeral here.

Where?

Down south.

Who’s funeral?

Sara’s old lady. 

His friend paused. Sara, as in, your ex?

Aye.

Finn, she dumped you for fuck sake.

I know.

Broke your heart, she did.

I know it.

There was a silence between them. Finn walked around the side of the church, staying in the shade cast by it’s walls, and the graveyard sprawled out before him in a sea of cobbled tombstones. Somewhere in the midst of them, a man stood beside an open grave, dressed in a black suit and tophat and puffed on the remnants of a cigarette.

Are you still coming tonight? His friend asked.

Aye. I’ll be home in two hours.

Alright, then.

Alright. 

Bye.

He put his phone back in his pocket. From inside the church, he could hear the harmonised voices of the crowd and the echoing of the priest as he read from the scriptures.

He took his jacket off, and rolled up his sleeves. Under his armpits were damp with sweat, and the sun hung above in the sky harshly and relentlessly. 

He stood in the shade for another moment. The man beside the grave now, the undertaker, had left his post, carrying the cigarette but in his hand, and snaked through the sea of jutting headstones and towards the church.

His jacket reached down behind his knees and swung wildly as he walked.

He passed Finn at the side of the church.

Day for it, Finn said, looking at the sky above.

The undertaker continued past him. This is bad news, he said, shaking his head.

What?

This, he nodded towards the church, this is bad news.