Modern Monk

I'm sitting writing, at a table for once, on this habitual journey. A Franciscan friar in full regalia has just walked past me, if you can call it regalia. In the long brown woven robe with a cowl, robe belt, tonsured head, sandals and glasses, he made a strange contrast to
the brand new train - somewhat out of place. The sense of dislocation was intensified further by the apparent contradictions in his dress; one cannot seem to call up a picture of a Medieval monk poring over his manuscripts wearing glasses, as this man was. But then, one can imagine that poring over books would bring about
the necessity for glasses.

I'm probably one of very few who grew up with friars at the dinner table now and then, but I was able to believe that this phenomenon had walked past me in just one glance. It was a long glance, because I was curious - one doesn't see friars every day - but I wasn't incredulous. There is a man across the aisle and a few seats down, who plainly did not believe his first casual glance up from his book. He is an exemplary smart modern man, in his browny suit and coordinated
yellowy shirt and tie; the sort of outfit that can only be worn with all three items together, and even then only in a catalogue. As the monk swept past, intent on his mission, he glanced up, back down to his book, and then leaned out of his seat not once but twice to stare, disbelieving, at the fast-retreating brown back, before returning to
his book once again, with a puzzled and not quite nice look on his face, as though he felt people should not be allowed to go around in 'fancy dress' in order to confuse him.

That look has long faded now and the man is returning himself to the world of his book. The incident has passed into memory.