The annual festival in Kasilami was fast approaching and the Bishop was still not yet fully recovered from his ordeal with the Pirates. He thought about them often. He dreamt about them often. He even preached about them often.

The congregation often jokes that the Bishop really sees no evil, if he can describe the Pirates as kind and giving in his sermons. He had forgiven them for the torturous time the put him through in the forest and his reason simply was that because they asked for forgiveness.

He returned to the forest, twice or thrice on his own. Whenever the nuns saw that he had done this they forgot all protocol and scolded him. There was a special kind of thorn that grew in the forest and whenever he had been there, it hooked itself to the bottom helm of his cloak. The nun found these thorns when they were stretching his garment.

“Surely they are just people too and they need salvation,” he would say in his own defence. “They have silver and gold and that too belongs to our father in Heaven,” he often added.

“Forget about those monstrous men Bishop,” sister Mabel often pleaded.

“Maybe I will go and check one last time and if they are not there, I will forget about them,” he would say hoping the sister will be convinced it’s a good thing.

“Father, let your will be done,” the sister said looking the Bishop right in the eye.

“Right,” he said and cleared his throat. “Sister Mabel why did I call you into my office again?” asked the Bishop.

“You did not call me Bishop; I came to show the spiky thorns I found hooked at the helm of your cloak,” the sister replied.

“Ooooh, I see them then. I guess our business here is done,” he replied without casting a look at the thorns in the sister’s hand nor at the sister’s face.

They sister wanted to walk out immediately but an energy pulled her back. She pulled out the chair placed opposite the Bishop and sat down without invitation. The Bishop cleared his throat in discomfort, crossed his legs and slouched a little deeper into his armchair.

That arm chair was precious to the Bishop. It was the only thing he got out of his parents’ house when they passed on. There were several photographs of himself seated on the same armchair when he was just a boy. That armchair was his safety, his comfort, his truth and his beginning. He could not lie, mislead or confuse matters whilst in that armchair. That armchair knew and raised him up. And now that he was older, he was looking after the armchair, as he would have looked after his parents.

The upholstery on the chequered old chair was no longer in good shape and the Bishop preferred it that way. Whenever the nuns brought up the issue the Bishop would ask them earnestly with pity in his eyes.

“Sisters you do many fine things for me and I appreciate you, but never fix this chair, it is not broken,” he would often say to them.

They nuns got it. The texture in his voice was different whenever he spoke about the armchair.

The arm rest part of the chair had cracked and the sponge inside could be seen. Whenever the Bishop was tense or uneasy, he often ran his fingers over that sponges that was peeping through, breaking small parts of it and dropping it to the floor. And he was doing that right now, as he sat wondering why Sister Mabel wanted to challenge him.

“Bishop,” she cleared her throat and stretched over her hand to touch his. “I don’t know if any of the nuns here even know your name and worse still, your age,” she read his body language and saw how he began to relax. “What the hell happened in the forest?” she asked.

The words were unexpected and caught both of them off guard but they were friends. Or they knew each other a long time, so they lived past the moment.

“Mabel,” the Bishop said, “I was bloody scared,” they looked at each other and laughed hysterically. They were safe in each other’s company and safe in the truth of this moment.

Her eyes gestured to him to go on telling the story.

“To tell you the truth dear Mabel, I don’t know where or how they found me,” he said to her.

He related all the events to her as best as he remembered and her eyes almost popped out of her scalp.

“Such evil monsters,” she remarked, “what is your obsession with such evil Bishop?” she asked. She shook her head gesturing that he should not reply, realising she knew what his obsession was with such evil.

He was a Holy man. This was his work. This was his life. He did not sleep well at night until people had found eternal peace in their souls.

“If you look past the hardness, they really are just people,” he said.

“What I remember is 2 giants standing side by side like warriors. Skin so dark and so coarse and so cracked it could easily be mistaken for the raw leather of a crocodile. Their nails were thick and long and harboured much dirt. Their teeth were mostly missing but the 2 or 3 I saw hanging in the mouth were thick and unshaped and stained brown. All their bodily features were oversized. Their hair was oily and dirty and knotted.”

“That’s enough Sister Mabel,” he interrupted and banged on his table.

“Well, you did hear my ending Bishop,” she knew how to work him, she understood his character. She stood up and fluffed the chair she had been sitting on and headed for the door.

“Your ending?” the Bishop called out. “I want to hear your ending,” he said.

“I want to hear your ending pleeeease,” she corrected him.

“Sir Mabel, would you be so kind to finish your thought were I interrupted you,” he asked her with a smile.

“Yes of course Bishop, naturally,” she replied with an even wider smile.

“Pity is I now forgot what I would have said,” she teased him and walked out his study.

“OOOH women, creatures I tell you,” he said to himself lifting up his hands in surrender.

The door flew open and she peeped her head in and said: “But if you insist that they are just people, then so be it. I will support you.”

“Go to bed, it’s an order,” the Bishop said to the Sister.

“Yes Sir,” she smiled and closed the door behind her.

Mabel and the Bishop knew each other for a mighty long time. They met in their teens when they were still involved in political struggles. They fell in love and when the Bishop got arrested, Mabel remained at home waiting on her lover to be released.

He came out changed, a Bishop and had sworn himself off women before the Lord. He explained all this to Mabel and at first she was distraught. He was her one love and her true soulmate. She wanted to be with him and he with her but his responsibility to God was his first priority. She joined the church as well and serviced as a nun in his ministry.

At least this way, they were still together even if it’s not in the fashion they had desired. The love was still there. But it was not governed by lust or emotions or self-satisfaction. The love was true and pure and innocent and patient. It was the best kind of love, it knew nothing of self-gain. It worked and served and gave back to the other.

***

Tell us: Do you believe in unconditional love? Could you be in a relationship that you couldn’t be physical in?