portable churches: fabric and poles which could be carried on a back together with the benediction light which was the heart of the structure. Yet tent or palace all were the same. All strove to teach the same message. To persuade all who came to listen or who could be persuaded to pay attention to accept the Universal teaching of complete Brotherhood. That no man was an island. That the pain of one was the pain of all. That all shared the burden of a common heritage. That all belonged to the Corpus Humanite. That once each could look at the other and say, there, but for the grace of God, go I, the millennium would have arrived.
He would never see it. No monk now alive would ever see it. Men bred too fast and traveled too far for that. They rested on too many worlds scattered throughout the galaxy and were subjected to too many strains. But, eventually, it would come. It was an article of faith to believe that. The purpose of his being.
'Brother!' A man rose from where he'd been squatting in the dirt and mud at the side of the track. He was thin, his face yellowed with jaundice, his teeth chattering with cold. He smelt of suppurating pus; the sickly sweet odor of tissue-decay. The hand he extended was like a claw, thin, quivering. 'Brother. For the love of God help me!'
'Ask, brother, and if it is possible it will be given.'
'I'm ill. Rotten with sores and something else. Starving. I can't get work. And I-I've…'
'The church is waiting,' said Brother Eldon quietly. 'Enter it, kneel beneath the benediction light, confess and receive forgiveness. Medicines are available and they will be given.'
'Brother, will you speak for me to Major Khaftle? He-'
'One thing at a time, brother.' Eldon was insistent. 'First you must be given what help we have. After, well, we shall see. Come now.'
He took the quivering claw into his hand, feeling the febrile heat of the skin, recognizing the fever, the disease. The man was dying and would die despite the antibiotics they could give. But he would not die alone and he would die in peace. Brother Veac would see to that.
The young monk accepted his charge and glanced sharply at his superior. It was not his place to question or to criticize, but he would not have been human had he not made a comment.
'It is late, brother, and cold.'
'Yes.'
'There is food and warmth within. You should rest now.'
'And stop trying to act the young man, brother?' Eldon smiled as the other looked abashed. 'Am I so old you think I have forgotten to remember how I thought when young? Take care of our friend now. Is Brother Biul available? Good.' Then lowering his voice he whispered, 'The infirmary, I think. There is room? Then see he has a place. I fear that he will not be with us for long.'
But first came the easing of his heart and soul. To kneel beneath the swirling bowl of colored light, to drift into a hypnotic condition, to unburden himself, to suffer subjective penance and then to be given the bread of forgiveness. And if most of those coming to the church did so for the sake of the wafer of concentrates then it was a fair exchange. For each who knelt beneath the light was conditioned not to kill.
'Brother!' Biul looked up from where he sat busy with papers and rose as Eldon entered the office. 'You must be frozen! Why must you be so stubborn? You are too old to act this way.'
Older than Veac the monk cared less for diplomacy and long friendship had given him a casual familiarity. Now he bustled around, fetching a warm blanket, filling a bowl with soup, standing over Eldon while he ate. Only when the bowl was empty did he permit the older man to speak.
'Biul, you have all the attributes of a bully,' said Eldon mildly. 'If I didn't know you meant well I might even be annoyed.'
'As I will be unless you take better care of yourself. We need you-and do I have to remind you that self-injury is a sin?' Biul cleared away the bowl, rearranged the blanket then said, 'Well?'
'Little. A few coins.'
'And?'
'Bad news.' Eldon felt his shoulders sag. 'War on Craig. The first engagements are over but there will be others that is certain. Help will be needed. Contact the seminary on Pace and have them notify those on Hope. A full medical team if possible, as many monks as they can spare at least. And perhaps influence could be brought to bear on those responsible to cease the hostilities.'
It was possible, the Church had friends in high places, and it would be tried, but inevitably there would be delays and in a war situation delay meant suffering, disease, degradation and death.
To alleviate a little of it was the most they could hope to do.
As Biul left Eldon sank back in his chair, conscious of the warmth of the blanket, the snug comfort of the room. It was bleak enough, the walls ornamented with small mementos and a few paintings of worlds known when young, but it held everything he had come to value since, when a youth, he had applied for acceptance into the church and had commenced his training.
There was trust there, and faith, and the desire of one to help another. There was truth and tolerance and compassion. There was an acknowledgment that life was more than could be seen on the surface and that, without the belief in something greater than Man, then Man could not be greater than what he was.
A point on which he had argued when young and had still not understood what it really meant to be a monk.
Brother Hoji had stripped away his illusions.
He was old, stooped, withered, crippled, acid. He was in charge of indoctrination and had not been gentle. Leaning back, half-asleep, Eldon could hear again the voice which had rasped like a file through the confines of the room into which had been packed a score of youngsters like himself.
'Why did you apply to become monks? What motive drives you? That question must be answered before any other. Look into the mirror of your soul and search for the truth. Is it in order to help your fellow man? Is it that and nothing more? If not then you don't belong here. You are wasting my time and your own. Rise and leave and none will think the worst of you. Be honest. Above all, be honest!'
Someone had coughed; strain triggering a near-hysterical giggle covered too late into the resemblance of a normal expulsion of air.
'You!' The twisted fingers of. the old monk had been an accusing claw. 'You laughed-why? Did you think I was a fool? That I tended to exaggerate? That I distorted the truth? Don't bother to answer.' Then, in a lower voice, he had continued. 'If you hope for personal reward or high office or the love and respect of those you are dedicated to serve, then you do not belong here. If you yearn for power or pain the same applies. Pain you will get and discomfort and suffering. You will know disappointment and see the work of years destroyed in a moment. You will be scorned and held in contempt, robbed and beaten, used and ignored, hated and despised. Yet, if in the deepest recesses of your heart, you long to be so treated, then you have no place here. Man is not born to suffer. There is no intrinsic virtue in pain. Those who seek it are enemies of the Church. If any sit here I tell you now to go. Go!'
No one coughed when he paused, no one giggled, but still there remained a little doubt. It vanished as the old monk stripped off his robe and displayed his naked body. His flesh-and the things which had been done to it.
'God!' whispered the man next to Eldon. 'Dear God!'
'The reward of patience,' said Hoji. 'It happened on Flackalove. A small settlement that, I thought, had accepted me. For three years I was with them and then came a drought. Plague followed and children died. They needed someone to blame.' Pausing he donned his robe then added, quietly, 'God gave me the strength to live and to continue helping my fellows. Now it is safe for a monk to stay on that world.'
Eldon felt again the cold shiver which had touched him at the calm understatement. How the man must have suffered! The injuries, even though now healed-he could not bear even now to think of them. Nor understand how the man had found the courage to continue on the path he had chosen.
Half the class had left at the end of the first three months. Half the remainder at the end of the first year. By the time the training period was over only two others had stayed together with himself. Three from twenty-a good average.
And now it was pleasant to sit in the warm and drift into worlds of memory in which old friends came to greet him and old places became new again: Even remembered pain became less demanding, became a part of the joy in serving, of his dedication. And it had not always been pain, though rarely had there been comfort. And now, old, in charge of this church, he could afford to relax a little. To let others share the burden. Others who…
