I flinched at the raised voice, backing away before the shout became a punishment.
My father shot me a look that saidgo away.And so I did.
***
Clothed in white, feet blistering in shoes that did not fit, I followed my parents to the front of the church to greet the parish priest of St Augustine’s.
Father Andrej was a middle-aged man born of Polish immigrants, his ash-coloured hair shaved close to the scalp and his thin framed glasses magnifying his wide, grey eyes. His parents moved to England after the Second World War, though it wasn’t until he was ordained as a priest that he arrived in the small town of Rose Chapel.
He shook my father’s hand, and then my mother’s, greeting Auden with a warm smile only to be met with a blank expression. When he stepped forward to ruffle my hair, I hid behind my father, his long legs a shield.
Apologising for my shyness, my father followed the priest toward the front row of pews, my mother scolding me quietly as she adjusted Auden on her hip.
I sat between my parents, legs swinging back and forth as more people piled in, floral perfume and incense filtering through the air. Auden remained still on my mother’s lap, his light brown hair combed neatly out of his blue eyes, just as bright as the day he’d first opened them.
Strangers approached our pew to greet Auden, making faces in an attempt to draw out a smile. He rewarded them with nothing but a slow blink, his blank expression unwavering.
I grinned, satisfied with the disappointed expressions on the strangers’ faces. I did not like them very much, but after my disrespectful behaviour with the priest, I was not permitted to ignore them. I let them pat the top of my head and pinch my cheeks, swallowing back my words of protest. I could bear it all if it drew them away from Auden.
St Augustine’s was the only Catholic church in Rose Chapel, standing solemnly with an ensemble of moss, ivy and algae crawling along the weathered limestone, indiscriminate in their invasion. Sunlight poured through its tall, arched windows—many of which were stained with various depictions of Jesus Christ, the Apostles, and Virgin Mary, casting an array of colour onto the worn marble floor.
The majority of Rose Chapel’s population were followers of the Church of England, but a small number were Catholic, and they were all piled inside the church to welcome the newest member of their community.
A soft hymn announced the start of the ceremony, Father Andrej leading the procession toward the large, dark oak altar draped in a gold and white cloth.
My gaze lifted toward the light fixtures above me, a stark contrast to the 15th century architecture. There were artworkslining the top of the walls to my left, scenes of Jesus’ crucifixion painted in vivid detail, blood dripping from his crown of thorns. This obsession with Christ’s brutal and agonising death were everywhere, with a large sandstone sculpture of Jesus on the cross displayed behind the altar, a confronting reminder of his eternal sacrifice.
“Why did Jesus die for us?” I had asked my mother once.
“To save us from our sins,” my mother answered, “and to restore our relationship with God so that we can have eternal life in Heaven.”
Guilt ensnared me, forcing my gaze down to my feet in shame. Jesus died and suffered for my sins, yet I was a sinner. I owed it to Jesus to do better, but the Devil lingered inside me, claws buried deep in my flesh.
There were no images of the Devil inside the church. No snake slithering into Eden. But I could feel him, hiding in the shadows, waiting to devour those whose thoughts strayed.
It was said the Devil was not welcomed in a place of worship, that he was forbidden entry. Though if all of God’s creatures were welcome, would that not include the Devil? Was he not one of God’s creations?
A nudge from my mother snatched me from my wandering thoughts, gaze sliding to Auden instead. He was fiddling with the hem of his christening gown, blissfully unaware of the Devil and his presence in the church.
Father Andrej recounted the origins of sin—of Adam and Eve’s disobedience in the Garden of Eden, the consumption of fruit that deemed all of humanity sinners.
I did not understand why their sin was now Auden’s to bear. Why didheneed to be absolved of a sin that wasn’t his own? He was innocent. Blameless. And yet he was carried to the basin of holy water by his godparents anyway, two members of the church who hadn’t even met him until this moment.
I watched the scene unfold from the pew, wincing at the scream that erupted from my brother when the water rolled down the back of his head. I wanted to eliminate the water then and there for making him cry, envious of the sun and its ability to evaporate water with its heat. The heat of my anger only resulted in my father’s hand on my shoulder, warning me to behave.
Following the ceremony, we attended a small church-held event to celebrate Auden’s official entry into the Catholic church. It was in a small, modern hall behind the church, and everyone who attended was invited.
There were far too many people, all of whom I wanted to avoid, so I remained glued to my mother’s side, listening to her conversation with a middle-aged woman with short black hair and smoke on her breath.
My mother was a small, thin woman with freckles painted across her nose and cheeks, hazel eyes hidden beneath long lashes.
Auden shared her bow-shaped lips and small round nose, though his eyes were so clear and bright, you could see yourself reflected as though peering through a mirror. My eyes were my mother’s, a blend of green, brown and gold.
“I heard Joanna’s daughter…” The black-haired woman lowered her voice as she leaned closer to my mother, looking around wearily as if to ensure she would not be overheard. “I heard she had an abortion last week.”
A gasp was my mother’s response.
“I know,” the woman said as I busied myself with colouring the picture of John the Baptist that had been distributed to all the children. “How tragic. The Devil got to her. Joanna is a mess.”
