The Ninth Buddha Read Free

into the darkness.   It was the Sunday before Christmas, but he found it hard to believe that God would ever return to earth.
    They did not notice the car waiting in the shadows further down the street.
    “Christopher.”
    He turned to see a figure approaching from the side door of the church.
    Father Middleton, still in his cassock, was making towards them.
    “Good evening, Father.   What can I do for you?”
    “I’d like to talk with you, Christopher, if I may.   Could I walk with you a little?   Would you mind?”
    The priest was shivering slightly from the cold.   His thin cassock was more a spiritual than a physical garment.   But he was a strong man who made a point of defying the elements when he could.
    Christopher liked him: he made no show of piety and had helped after Elizabeth’s death by steering well clear of all talk of the blessed souls in paradise.
    “Perhaps we could talk in the church,” suggested Christopher.
    “It’s cold for you out here.”
    Father Middleton shook his head firmly.
    “Nonsense, Christopher.   I won’t die.   You’ve both got some way to go.   And I only want a few words anyway: just along Hencotes past the Sele, then I’ll leave you and get back to my little fire.”
    Christopher nodded and they set off.   He felt his son’s small hand in his, warm and fragile, the frosted snow giving beneath his feet, the fog gathering force beyond the limits of the flickering gas lamps   The presence of the priest made him self-conscious.   Somewhere behind them, a car door opened and closed in the darkness.
    “I’ve been thinking,” said the priest, ‘that it may be time to put up a permanent memorial to our war dead.   I thought perhaps a small chapel in their honour, dedicated to the Virgin.   Nothing ostentatious.   Just a quiet place near the front.   Somewhere a widow can light her candle and be left in peace.”
    Out of the darkness, muffled footsteps crossed the street and came in
    their direction.   In another place, at another time, Christopher might
    have taken alarm.   But it was Sunday and this was
    England.   Long months of inactivity had lulled his instinct for , danger.   The darkness thickened round him, like something solid moving against his flesh.
    “How can I be of help, Father?   You’ll want a
    donation, of course.
     
    I’ll be glad to contribute.”
    “Indeed.   I’ll be grateful for anything you’re willing to give.   But
    I wondered if I could ask more of you.   You’re a military man yourself.
    I’ve heard .. .”   he hesitated ‘..   . that you were decorated.”
    They were nearing the end of Hencotes.   A single light struggled against the dark, laying a yellow film across the firmly packed snow.   Christopher stared ahead into the darkness.   Who had told the priest?
    Not William, he was sure of that.   His secret was safe with the boy.
    Perhaps Harriet..   .
    “Yes,” he said.   His breath mingled with that of the priest, white and listless in the clear air, like milk moving in water.
    “I’d like to set up a fund,” Father Middleton continued.
    “You’re the man at Carfax now, ever since Major Ridley died.   There’s your sister, of course.   But I’d like a man, a soldier, to head the appeal.”
    “I was never a soldier.”
    “No.   But highly decorated.   For valour.   I ask no questions.   You have military rank.”
    “Father, I’m not sure .. .”
    The footsteps were upon them now.   Two men emerged from the shadows, their faces pallid in the thin light.   They were dressed in heavy coats and wore shallow fur hats pulled down well on their heads.   The first man had a narrow, sour face and eyes that looked as though he had not slept for nights.   His companion was heavier and coarser-featured, with dark stubble on his chin.
    , What happened next took only a few seconds, but it was to ; remain etched on Christopher’s memory for the rest of his life.   The I thin man nodded at his