Old Habits

5 - Tolerance

Father Abaye was making a speech.

“Er…” he began.

It was a good start. Tam had edited enough old scripture to know the hallmarks of a successful speech, and a substantial amount of "um"-ing and "ah"-ing was mandatory. To "er" was to human, but it was also divine. In fact, Tam had read that some religions went so far as to worship the word “um”, believing the syllable preceded the universe’s creation.

A speech from Brother Berith, on the other hand, could bring about its end. A long time ago, he’d discovered that the easiest way to practise what he preached was to only preach about what he practised. His lectures were subsequently full of tedious anecdotes, and seemed to contain little of any importance to those not living his life.

“Um…” continued Abaye, to general approval. “Listen. There are going to be some changes.”

So far, so good. The monks were opposed to change, as a rule, but they allowed the Abbott his attempts at progress. These schemes made little difference, were invariably scrapped within a month, and kept him from interfering in how the monastery was actually run.

“We’re going to be having some guests…”

A wave of murmurs spread throughout the congregation, washing the Abbot’s sentence off its feet and drowning it in a sea of susurration. He didn’t even try to fight it. He had long ago given up trying to command the crowd’s attention through awe, or hold it through veneration; he hadn’t, however, relinquished it entirely. When demands for attention failed, seemingly avoiding it could arouse curiosity. He could still steal it through intrigue.

In this case, merely disappearing did the trick. When he returned, the crowd’s eyes were fixed, if not upon him, then on the two figures he had brought with him. The first, as was her nature, stepped into the light. It was Kaida Tabun.

There was a pause whilst several candles had to be relit, having been extinguished by the collective intake of breath.

“Is this a joke?” asked Brother Berith, who had possibly never heard a joke in his life.

“Um, no.” Abaye’s response was accompanied with a glower from Kaida,  which reminded most of the monks that their shoes were of great artistic interest, and that it would be a shame not to study them intently.

Berith, though, was not to be put off. 

“Listen, Father,” he addressed his son, ignoring Kaida’s presence. “This is absurd. There can’t be women here. That’s why it’s called a monastery; men, see?”

“That might have been true in the past, but times change. Um. We need to change with them. Er, I did say there would be changes,” a reproachful Abaye answered.

“If they’d wanted women in, they’d have called it a womonastery,” continued Berith, who shared the popular belief that repetition makes any argument valid.

“Uh, but doesn’t The Book say ‘all men are created equal, and women aren’t far behind’? We are a religion of tolerance”.

“That may be, but her feminist group is just as bad. They claim to be fighting for equal treatment, and yet they would only consider female applicants for leader.”

Berith had been thinking as he spoke, and now the bright candle of an idea had been lit above his head. He seized it with both hands.

“She,” here he shot Kaida an ugly look, “wouldn’t let us join them, so why should we let her join us?”