The Gateway - Chapter IV: Atheist's Advocate

Today is Sunday. I shall be going to the Blackberry Church later on, and though I am a little ashamed to admit this, I am rather looking forward to it. Not because I am going to church, you must understand, but because I expect Andrew and his siblings will be there with Reverend Osborne and I expect they will be articulating some rather dangerous arguments to whether or not God actually exists; to their own detriment of course, as I have no doubt that the village will take action upon their blasphemies. Nevertheless Andrew strikes me as the type who has little care for consequences. One cannot help, for all his faults, still have admiration and respect for him I find. His manner of flying in the face of authority has a somewhat inspiring effect upon myself. I think this is because in the way he commandeers the ideas which he disagrees with and, instead of committing violent acts as the thugs do in the city, he constructs rational arguments, of which are of a more highly intellectual quality than many adults can actually incorporate in their own speeches, which neatly and yet forcefully contrast these, in his eyes, incorrect ideas.

There is also another reason why I am rather looking forward to going to church. Alice. She has been impregnated in my thoughts for every waking second since I have met her. I suspect that when I hear a sermon, which mentions angels at church today, I will be thinking of her. I find that Alice and most of the other country girls are much more well spoken that the girls I knew in the city who were, by and large, very coarse at times. Alice is more ladylike - the type of girl whom you would be like to be married to. I feel that country girls, and please excuse my snobbery here, are much better bred. The girls here in the country are of a bright-eyed enthusiasm, perhaps because of their naivety, and conversely the city-girls have dull eyes filled with bleakness and woe perhaps because they know too many truths of the world. Whilst I am on the subject of eyes something struck me about Andrew and his siblings. Andrew and his youngest sister Felicity had quite mesmerising eyes, filled with passion and ambition whilst I noticed Peter’s were calmer and slightly weary. Susan’s, however, were hollow. She had, for want of a better word, dead eyes. Nothing. Nothing filled them; one could not help think that if Susan were told she were Queen of the world her eyes would not lift a little; they would be as equally dark then as if she were attending a funeral. I wondered, when I sat upon my bed in the farmhouse, what experiences had these children had in life. They all seemed well educated even though Susan was at times, as Andrew had put it, fantastical and seemed to, on occasion, have little grasp of reality. Susan’s eyes frighteningly reminded me of my mother when she had taken to drinking red wine and seemed depressed. I hope you do not think I am a little strange wondering so much about what one’s eyes told others about themselves its just I have always been fascinated by the complexity, the beauty of eyes and they are my favourite part of the human body. I asked my father once what his favourite part of the body was but he replied that his answer would be too crude for a little boys hearing.

Rising from my bed I slipped into my slippers and, seeing that William wasn’t present, I walked downstairs to have breakfast. Aunt Laura saw me as I walked downstairs and with a slightly hurried voice, said:
‘John, quick eat some toast and jam and then you must get dressed for church, one is not late to the House of God.’
I imagined what Andrew would think to this; he would probably prefer to be absent altogether.

I rushed my toast down and put on my shirt and tie, which had been brought for usage during the school day. I found a small pair of black socks and some smart, black shoes which, again, had been purchased for me to wear them to school. They were, however, awfully uncomfortable as they were two sizes too small having been acquired several years ago and, due to my parent lacking funds, had not been replaced since with a newer, larger and a more comfortable form of footwear. Not being used to having the top button of my shirt being done up I found this most uncomfortable as I waited for William to get ready as I stood by the front door with Aunt Laura and my mother and father. I found that every time I attempted to loosen the top button I felt my Aunt’s hand slap the perpetrating hand of mine. You may consider it strange that I was not required to wear a shirt with a top button fastened whilst I attended school in the city. This was not in-fact the case. We were technically required to do so as stated the school’s half-hearted attempt of legislating a code of conduct, which was a rather scrappy piece of parchment that was pinned by the hall, but due to an overwhelming atmosphere of apathy towards the code of conduct shared by both pupils and lecturers, there was a particularly indifferent attitude to the smartness of one’s dress.

We arrived at church by ten in the morning, the sun having barely of risen the sky was a grey hue and made a bleak setting for my first day of church, which I thought was rather fitting actually given where I would be going. I always found the Bible to be a rather depressing piece of literature with even Genesis having original sin unleashed on the world. It is rather like a fairytale where the protagonist is killed in the first chapter. Andrew and his siblings were already there and were standing patiently next to the pulpit wear Father Osborne stood ominously casting an eye over the church-goers which seemed to be looking for guilt and repent among his listeners for the sins they had committed since, for many of the committed members, yesterday. Andrew, at first glance, looked like a very well brought up and traditional boy whom was standing silently, waiting with an unvoiced eagerness for the start of church proceedings. It was only when you surveyed him closer and saw the twitch in his hand, ready to use for signalling and visually showing, and collaborating with, his words as politicians do and the hate embedded in his solemn face that one would question his zeal and consider that it was not for the hearing of the words of God but for voicing his own views to an audience.

As I sat down I noticed a wave of tension as William and Andrew’s eyes fell upon each other, clearly previous events were still on both their minds and their clashing of views were helping to form a vicious rivalry. William’s brawn juxtaposed with Andrew’s acute intelligence. One could not help think that if the former and the latter did not make peace than this rivalry would become destructive. However these thoughts were ephemeral as Reverend Osborne started the sermon and my thoughts attached themselves to his words.
‘I would like to bring something to the attention of the residents of Blackberry village and the neighbouring farms. Many of you here are my kin and will already have an idea of what I am about to say, to those of you who don’t then look either side of me. You may have noticed these four children as you walked in to this house today, but fooled be not as these children are not here to sing sweets hymns but in actuality they have been contradicting the word of our Lord. They are here under my guidance to have their ways changed and their satanic thoughts mended. Their adherence to Satanism will be washed away and replaced with pure thoughts of God and repent for what they have done. I urge any member of this community to henceforth, upon hearing blasphemies and vile delusions about our faith dribble from their sinful, mouths to come forward and educate me on their exact deviations from the truth.’ Father Osborne glowered around the room searching for anyone to speak to tell him of such events. A figure arose from one of the benches, her blonde ponytail resting curiously on her shoulder. It was Jane.
‘Reverend, I know of such wanton speech told by the eldest of the males.’ Her eyes falling with contempt upon Andrew as she said this.
‘Please continue fair child.’ Reverend Osborne stood patiently for Jane to do so and she proceeded thus:
‘Reverend, the eldest of them declared that the church was… it was…' Jane paused clearly finding it difficult to say Andrew’s crime out loud. I admit it seemed a little pathetic to me, it was not as if he had killed anyone or committed any crime under statutory law for that matter.
‘He said the church was a house of lies!” She delivered eventually. An almost pantomimic gasp arose from the churchgoers. Reverend Osborne turned on Andrew with rage printed in his arched brows.
‘What say you in accordance to these accusations?’
A smile formed on the lips of Andrew; he had waited for this.
‘Why, nothing less than that they are true, I did say the things I have been accused of, and I present you with the question why not?’
‘I’ll tell you why not, you abhorrent child, because you shall burn in hell for eternity for such things!” Reverend Osborne shouted, his temper getting the better of him. Andrew coolly looked Reverend Osborne in the eyes.
‘You, based on the statement you have just made, clearly believe that Hell exists, but consider, for a moment, if your faltering and narrow mind will allow it, that Hell and indeed Heaven do not exist and are merely manmade retreats and moral reminders of the consequences of one’s behaviour. Heaven is but a way of ensuring one’s actions do not cause harm to the rest of society, it is a mental handcuff of one’s ability to pursue their goals and it binds them to remain content with the promise of reward in the next life; in short it imprisons those whom believe themselves to be free.’
Jane looked confounded, perhaps because the idea of Heaven and Hell not existing had never taken fancy in her mind or because she thought Andrew had lost his mind.
‘And what exactly do you believe happens when one passes away o enlightened one?” she asked mockingly, a sardonic tone as clear and sharp as thin ice present in her voice merged with a hint of disdain.
Andrew looked her up and down and, sneering as he did so, pursed his lips and lowered his eyes as if Jane was contaminated with some sort of disease that could only be acquired through sin.
‘I happen to believe that when you die your mind and your soul vanish as if they had never been in the outset; without a trace, you are conscious no longer and your body simply rots away probably in a six by six grave dug in a ground similar to the one outside the church. Dying is hardly romantic, and yet you would have us believe that to die for God is a glorious thing. The truth is a dangerous and stark reality; there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. We go nowhere after this world. The implications of which is that we can do whatever we please in this life and hath not to know fear for the consequences of our actions, perhaps guilt if one were so inclined to feel that way, but not fear. This does not make me indifferent to dying; in fact it scares me even more than if I had to pay for my sins and sit in hell for eternity with not a glass of ice-cold water at hand and no literature to read before I rest, this is because it puts into perspective how small and pathetic we are, how ethereal and ephemeral humans actually be. I can naturally understand why one would want to believe Heaven exists. We have all lost loved ones have we not and longed deeply in our hearts that they have gone to a better place and dance merrily with angels while we, here on this cruel world, weep and grieve for them. In truth though they have gone forever, physically anyway, and their very existence is dependent upon how far the breath of the wind can take them, for after we are gone we can but only survive on the lips of men, after all who knew us have too passed away or have forgotten us then we may as well have never been alive at all. However now we have arrived in the twentieth century it is time to stop believing in such fairytales and accept the overwhelming probability that nothing awaits us after death and we must live this life to the fullest.’

Andrew seemed a little sombre now, the fire in his voice had died down and now he looked pensive. Jane challenged him again.
‘If Heaven and Hell do not exist then where does God and the Devil reside?’
‘What makes you think they are not the material of lies; what makes you believe they are real?’ Andrew came back with.
‘Well how did humans come to exist then, and all of the world’s creatures for that matter?’ Jane pursued.
‘Why are you so eager for your God to be real anyway, he is idle. God overslept on the seventh and during his unconscious state the Devil crept into Heaven. Also he could surely solve all of the world’s problems could he not if he so wished; but he doesn’t. If he does exist, which I find highly unlikely, he is probably watching some unsuspecting female undress. Think about how sinister a being is that can see everything you do; he could rather neglect ones privacy don’t you think? Why are you, Jane, so in support of “The Lord Almighty”, he, who has made women like yourself the scapegoat of all of the trials and strife that we as a race are faced with? Does the Bible not claim in Genesis that it was Eve who unleashed original sin? You may greet this question with the query that what is to say that this is not true of Eve, and to this I simply propose that the story, for that is all it is, of the Garden of Eden is simply not true, and undesirable if it is factual anyhow. Firstly, there are scientific problems with the proposition of everyone being spawn from two original parents, namely Adam and Eve, which is that this would meant there to be a very small gene pool resulting, in all likelihood, for us all to be mutants or physically or mentally disadvantaged in someway. Also, correct me if I am wrong for my knowledge of the Bible is limited, but did not Adam and Eve only produce two offspring, specifically Kane and Abel, and one wonders how they came about to have wives, for it is never mentioned that the Lord God provided them with wives; itself a very sexist act, and thus we must extract the appalling fact, and I shall make this subtle as not to damage the minds of the children, that Kane and Abel had to reproduce with the only female available to them subsequently meaning that their wives were in fact their own offspring and as you can no doubt gather this is not a particularly morally nor socially acceptable thing to do. Before you raise argument to what I have hitherto said, remember that it is God who forced this situation upon our forefathers, it is he then, who seemingly endorses incest, and I ask of you what sort of a man is that?

Father Osborne did not answer, not with words anyhow. Father Osborne marched up to him, grabbed Andrew very violently, his arm pressed up against Andrew’s windpipe, and dragged him into a room and flung him to the floor. Father Osborne then locked Andrew in the room. He glared at Felicity, Peter and Susan as if challenging them to stand up to his authority. They stayed silent, though I could see they were simply biding their time. Now was not the time for revenge but they would surely have it.

The sermon carried on in what I was later told to be standard procedure, though Father Osborne was a little shaky at first and the churchgoers weren’t quite at jovial at hymn in comparison to most Sundays.

When we got home from church I was to have my first ‘real’ day on the farm, as William put it. This meant I was to feel the strain of labour, which was material of clearing out animal dwellings, watering crops and shifting fodder and other foodstuffs. Not how I usually spent my Sundays for, although knowing little about the Bible, I was well aware God rested on the seventh and that was usually my excuse for lounging around and being idle.

William waited out my room while I changed from my church clothes into something more appropriate for farm work. William then guided me down to Grace’s stable and informed me that we would be cleaning out her stable today. This did not really appeal to me, foremost because the stable smelt like a public lavatory and had evidently not been cleaned out for a while. He gave be a pair of gloves and told me to fetch some fresh straw, which was kept in the shed adjoined to the barn. This was quite pleasant actually as I would be taking Grace into the barn while William was collecting the dirtied straw and thus I would be avoiding the filthiest part of cleaning out and would be able to stroke the animals as I did so. I shut Grace in a small stable that was inside the barn that was empty since it was used when cleaning out was in process. I then proceeded to stroke Isaac on his face, rubbing my hand gently up and down. I didn’t have anything to give him to eat and so I decided I would come back later and give him a carrot.

I entered the shed and stuffed as much straw I could into a sack. I then dragged the sack; as I had filled it far too full for me to carry with ease, back to the outside stable where Grace usually lived. William had finished taking out the straw and when he saw me he instructed me to fetch another sack from the shed. I kept hoping that Alice would show up and we could go and play, though it occurred to me that William was probably dreading the possibility of Jane coming to the farm, as he smelt of manure. Still, she did not come; I suppose we had not bonded all that much, any chance of that happening had been swiftly destroyed when Andrew had turned up at the picnic. Now I have time to think about it I wonder what he was doing on Dark Moor anyway. I returned to William with a sack and, as her filled in with the dirty straw, I asked:
‘Is there anything remarkable about Dark Moor?’
William gave me a puzzled look.
‘Nothing much really, apart from the terrain being dotted with hills and valleys and there is the Dark Wood. Oh, I think there’s quite a large poppy field there as well in the spring. Why?’
‘No reason’, I said, and then, after a little hesitation questioned ‘do you think Andrew, Susan, Peter and Felicity were looking at the poppy field?’
‘Why would they be so interested in a bunch of flowers; Andrew hardly struck me as the type of chap who cared much for gardening.’ William tied a knot in the sack and chucked it at my chest. I caught it due to natural reflexes.
‘Throw that in the big bin at the front of the farm old boy,’ he said before taking out the fresh straw I had carried, or dragged rather, in the sack.

As I chucked the dirty straw into the bin at the front of the farm I saw a young woman coming up the path. She had curly blonde hair that had streaks of brown running through it which hung at a level opposite her mouth. She had big brown eyes and a friendly disposition. She was clearly a farm girl for she wore dungarees, which had been into contact with soil recently, and gloves were on her hands.
‘Hello, are you James?’ she said smiling, clearly she had spoken to Aunt Laura or William recently and they had told her I would be living with them soon, but as this information was clearly unimportant to her she had forgotten my name.
‘John,’ I answered shyly. I wondered if she were here to speak to William or my Aunt. She looked about twenty-three and so I assumed my aunt would be the more probable of the two.
‘I’m Nell, I live on King’s, the neighbouring farm – I’m here to see Laura.’
‘She’s on the potato field watering the potatoes,’ I answered.
‘Thanks James.’ She said as she passed.
‘John.’ I muttered annoyed, though I don’t think she heard me and gave no signal of acknowledgement if she did.

Nell, I found out, after interrogating William, was the new wife of Geoffrey King, the son of Jack King who owned the farm. Geoffrey, on all accounts of village gossip, was a particularly unfaithful man and had indeed cheated on his first wife with a sixteen-year-old girl from Outset Village. Nell though, as she had only lived in Blackberry for a fortnight, had not yet been told this. William regarded Geoffrey King with contempt and it didn’t take me long to realise it was probably because he was afraid Geoffrey would soon try to woo Jane. Geoffrey apparently had a penchant for young girls. Nell was originally from Devon and had come to Kent to see her grandmother, who had been dying. Geoffrey, who was quite a bit older than Nell at thirty-one years of age, had been a friend of her brothers. They had met at the funeral. A rather melancholic first date in my opinion.