Not Normal
Inspired by the story of St Porphyrios
It was the late 1800’s in Europe, close to the turn of the century.
She was sixteen and he was eighteen. Her parents approved of him because he was religious and a hard worker and never gave those in authority over him any problems. She approved of all those things, too, and also thought he was quite handsome. So she accepted the match, even though there was something about him that was not quite normal.
At first, she thought it was because he was too biddable. They didn’t argue as every other couple did. But then, she realized that he was not biddable at all. He would do what she told him unless it mattered to him, and if it did, he was immovable. Then, if she continued, he didn’t yell, he didn’t hit her, he didn’t force her to do anything. He just left. And so she found out that there was a part of him she would never command, nor even understand.
He was happy when their families agreed to the match. She had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. He thought that was why she usually kept her face so stern. But he had seen it – she had shown it to him. So when the families had proposed the match, he had known it must be the will of God, and he consented.
Her husband was gone. In America. She stood in the kitchen and ranted and cried and yelled at him, even though he was far away. She had known he would go without them. On that last day, if she had said, “Yes, we’ll go with you,” he would have delayed and she could have kept him with her just a few more days. And he would not have been angry with her when she backed out, but it would have made no difference. He would still have gone.
Their youngest son was the only one who was still at home most of the time. He didn’t look like his father, but oh, he had the same faraway eyes that saw things she could never see. He had the same biddable will that could not be commanded. And he had the same religious bent, a desire for another world, while she was perfectly happy to pay her respects to it from time to time and then get back to normal life. It was unbearable, to have him here with her, reminding her of the man who was gone.
So she sent him to her cousin’s store, at the age of ten.
And when the house was empty, she ranted and cried and yelled at both of them. Until she didn’t anymore. And things went back to normal.
Her youngest son was gone. At the age of twelve, he had run away from her cousin’s store, and could not be found. And her husband was still away, working in America.
Their other children were fine, normal children, but her youngest was just like his father. You wouldn’t think so, but she could tell. Just like her husband, he was a reader. Oh, he had been no good in school — no one learned anything there from the sick old teacher — but he still caught on enough to sound out, letter by letter, syllable by syllable, that book her husband had read to the children.
Their other children had dutifully sat and listened and been bored by the stories of odd saints doing odd things, but she had watched their youngest. You’d have thought the stories were about wild adventurers or mighty warriors, not wandering kooks and hiding freaks.
His father had been overly obsessed with wild stories, too. He had wanted them to go to America. She had nipped that in the bud.
“No, dear, I know there’s not enough work for you here to support a wife and four children, but we are not moving this family.” But he had gone anyway, without them. He had said he would, and then he had scraped together the travel money and one morning he’d just told her, “I’m off now, I’ll send back money when I find work,” and he was gone. And now her youngest son was gone, just like his father.
By the time her husband came back, instead of four children, he had just three.
“Where is he?” he’d asked. She hadn’t written anything about him in her letters to America. Not that she wrote anything herself; Tommy, their second son, did that for her. At least he had until he’d gone in to the city to work. Then Phyllis, their girl, had taken over. Now Tommy, he could use some of his father’s religion. He was still wasting time with city girls. No wife, no children! If he hadn’t gotten a good job, that would be one thing, but he made good money, working in the city.
“Dear, he went missing.” She crossed her arms and frowned at him, as if it was his fault their youngest son was gone.
He knew that look, although it had been five years since he’d seen it last. There was nothing to do when she did that, except give her her way or leave. And he’d just gotten back! But how could she have lost their youngest son and not let him know?!
“Now, don’t you go blaming me!” she said. “You were off in America, and me with four children and a house to run. I sent him to my cousin’s store – the one Danny runs now – and he ran away.” Danny, their eldest, lived over that store now with his wife and two children.
Her body was stiff, and he knew that if he tried to comfort her, she’d just push him away and hit him.
“Now, now,” he said. “Who said anything about blame? Did I say anything?” But his eyes were getting moist. All those years away, now he was back, and she was mad at him and his youngest son was gone. He blinked his eyes. She didn’t allow tears, especially when she was mad. And the American men hadn’t either.
“You know what he was like. He wanders off on his own. He never means to disobey, but he just wanders.”
He nodded. “How long has he been gone? Are they looking for him?”
She had decided their youngest son was dead, he had to be. He must have wandered off and hurt himself and not been able to get back home. That was the story she’d settled on long ago. She had done her mourning, but it was over and there was nothing else to do about it.
“Five years,” she said.
Her husband had always been devout, but now he went to daily Mass. He had a vivid imagination. A young boy, prone to wander, too biddable. He’d seen things in his life. He poured out things to the Lord in front of the Blessed Sacrament, and eventually, the vivid imaginings stopped breaking his sleep with nightmares, and became just thoughts he could describe with words, and then shut down.
People in the village knew better than to bring it up with either of them. He knew better than to bring it up with her, and so she didn’t kick him out of the house. After a while, she let him into their bed again. But there were no more children, not even a “change of life” baby. That chance had passed during the five years he had been away working in America.
Two years later, he was home when a man of the cloth came to his door and asked after his family.
“You knew him?” he asked, when the man said he had worked with his youngest son, and a hope he’d lost welled up in his heart. “How is he?” Suddenly, it all made sense. Of course! The boy had gone off and joined a monastery!
But the young man dashed his hopes as fast as he had raised them. “Dead?” And now, there was no stopping the tears. After all the Masses, after all the time before the Sacrament, all the pain that had been salved and hidden away came back.
“Father,” the young man said, seeing his father’s heart break in front of him, “it’s me. I’m a priest now.”
And now he kept crying, but now he was hugging his youngest son. Later, he would find out that the boy had meant to stay there, incognito, like the story of one of his favorite saints. But at the time, all that mattered was that his son, whom he had lost, was found.
She didn’t approve of their youngest becoming a priest. That was all very fine for other people, but there was something not quite normal about it. She didn’t like having him living with them in the house, and he needed more quiet, so he moved into the rectory by the church, and then, eventually, into a monastery nearby. His father went with him, and helped until he was settled, and then came back home.
She was sitting with her husband when the letter came from the bishop, rebuking her for complaining about their son’s vocation. She still couldn’t read, so he read it to her. Her eyes widened when she saw they had a letter from the bishop. And widened further when she heard what he said. She always did the right thing, so she reconciled with their son.
And her husband smiled.
Beautiful! Thank you!