HOLES IN THE FABRIC: Bk 1 The Weaver Prophecy

Chapter 19: The Abode of the God Rehua

The little Catholic Church had stood humbly on the corner of the street for 100 years or so. Its exterior was one of modest white painted weatherboards, lined with small high windows peering down from the two sides.  A well clipped lawn and a white picket fence with a concrete path down the middle set it off perfectly. A lemon tree grew at the back to the side next to the rear entrance. A small garden filled with cheerful flowers grew around the boundaries.

The entranceway was a set of double doors designed to meet at the arch, at the top of a small concrete ramp. Within the arched door, was a small door. Inside were plain, well worn wooden pews. Loyal parishioners had sewn patchwork and embroidered cushions, their wholesome colours sprinkled about the church. At the top of the aisle hanging from the wall was a wooden cross of Jesus. To the right a statue of Mary, in pastel colours, on her own wooden stand coming out from the wall.

            A wooden pulpit sat at the front of the raised dais. Just behind it lighting a candle in front of the statue of Mary stood the priest. His dark hair was peppered with grey. Combed carefully back, it was still thick and strong. He stood back to look at Mary for a moment, his brown lined face a picture of serenity. Father Wiremu loved his work. He was dressed in simple black trousers, with a white collar and sweatshirt. There were no services today.

            “Just wait a moment please, while I finish talking to our lady.” He said in a low soft voice. He crossed himself then turned about.

       “Ah it is you again. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He walked slowly down the steps   and over to the second pew, kneeling down upon his knees, he closed his eyes.     “Now I can see you better.” He nodded his head. “I see.” He listened some more. Then his eyes opened and he frowned.  “I don’t think I heard you properly, ask me again.” The vision he beheld spoke again, more insistent this time. “It hasn’t been done for a long long time. I am not sure if it will work now, I have only heard my tupuna speak of it. Yes of course I know the ceremony. But you already knew that didn’t you?” he laughed, a soft familiar laugh filled with the history of many shared conversations between them.

            “When?” pause. “Now? Are you sure? All right.”

He stood and walked to his small office, through the door off to the right at the back of the dais. Reaching inside he took the key off the hook. He moved to his simple wooden desk. It had a small draw at the top, with a hand carved handle and underneath was a cupboard door with a round heavy knob above a keyhole. He placed the latchkey in the lock and pulled the cupboard open. Inside was a small fabric roll. He pulled it out and placed it in a green environmentally friendly canvas shopping bag which he placed over his shoulder.

“Okay, ready when you are?”

“Did you say something Father?” At the end of the aisle stood an elderly woman his helper. Her hair swept back in a clasp, a warm smile on her lips.

“No Mrs Tipene. I’ll be out for a while. Lock up after you.”

“Will do.”

He walked past her and out the small door, within a door.

Mrs Tipene shook her head as he closed it behind her. She had been standing there for 10 minutes, watching him talking. They were the only two in the church as far as she could see. But perhaps she could not see as far as he could.

        Father Wiremu walked through the gate and onto the street, unlocking his car, an early model Toyota sedan. The car had a few scratches on the outside, and a small dent on the left guard, but sparkled in the sun, its waxed surface polished to perfection. He wiped his feet on the footpath, before getting in. Winding down the window, he turned to his passenger seat.