Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
This morning, Sister Brigid not only comes up the path with the flasks of goat’s milk that she takes to the monks each day, she also has a cloth sack over her shoulder overflowing with fresh garden greens.
Of course, I offer to help her carry all of this, though I’m not yet sure of my own strength even to walk this path. She gives me the bag of greens and I realize it is thoughtful of her not to ask me to help with the flasks. She must have noticed my frailty.
We follow the worn path descending into the low place in the valley. She walks ahead of me, steady as a goat and waits at the bottom for my slower descent. We cross the lower, more level part of the valley, then I look to the ascent — it seems daunting just now as I am hardly accustomed to walking at all. She takes the bag of greens onto her own shoulder.
“Take your time.” She says, “This first time, just use your hands and knees for the climb up the stairway. What seems a hard climb today will be easy for you tomorrow.”
I know she is right. That’s the nature of healing. Healing may be a holy miracle, but it is never a magical grand pronouncement: ‘now you are strong again.’ It always demands the frail stretch into strength. So today, I make the ascent to the monastery clinging to the walking stick, nearly on my hands and knees, grateful for her patience with me.
We stop for a rest at the hillcrest, and she hands me back the bag to carry.
“The monks will be returning from their morning prayers very soon, so we will be waiting for Brother Lugh at his cell. “
I follow the Sister to a doorway of the cells, so when Brother Lugh returns, he does find us waiting.
He is clearly startled to see me. Maybe he would be shy of any stranger, or maybe he remembers he has seen me. He keeps his gaze fixed on me, as though I were a snake at his door.
Sister Brigid says, “Brother Lugh, this man calls himself Lazarus.”
The Sister hefts the supplies and goes on to make her delivery leaving me to explain myself to the stunned monk. We both know he’s seen me before, in a different state of life. Is that also what he is thinking in his silence?
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 