The Keys of the Kingdom Page #12

"Father Craig was a young,

but not-so-gentle American...

"who had been famous

at Notre Dame University...

"for playing American rugby football.

Sister Mary had come from Australia

after Sister Clothilde died. "

- Father?

- Take it away.

It's time for you to drink your milk.

Just what is the object

of this treatment?

To get me to moo like a cow

all the way home to Scotland?

Just put it down in front of him,

Sister Mary.

I'll see to it that he does

as he is told.

And why must I do

as Wilbur Fiske tells me?

Because he's your friend and your doctor

and knows what's best for you.

Well-

Well, after tomorrow, I'll be free to decide

for myself what I shall eat and drink.

I don't want to go.

I don't want to leave here.

Honestly...

there is no one here

who's content to see you go.

It's difficult to remember that you've

been recalled for your own benefit.

It's difficult to think of anything...

but that we shall miss you so much.

I'm afraid I've reached the age

when it's easier to part with the dead...

than with the living.

A great part of my life

shall stay behind with you.

My life has been preoccupying me

lately now that it's almost over.

I've taken to rereading my journal.

Certainly a typical old man's weakness.

Hmm. How out of proportion

are the events of our lives...

to the words with which

we describe them.

No one's ever really been able

to write pain or love...

or fear or God...

as well as we can feel them.

Oh, here's a picture of Andrew.

Judy's little boy.

He is, uh-

How do you say? A bonny lad.

Oh, aye, he's bonny.

He has that from his grandmother,

from Nora.

What a strange continuity

of unhappiness that was.

First Nora...

then Judy, who lived and died

as wretchedly as she was born.

And now Andrew...

deserted by his father

and wanted by no one but me.

- Who takes care of him?

- Oh, the woman who looked afterJudy.

Polly left some money,

and I've sent what little I had.

I've never been able to send for him.

I had to reckon with the possibility...

that he might arrive

to find me no longer here.

And now that I'll soon see him,

I realize how vain it is of me...

to think that it matters much

to him either way.

Well, here's an item of history.

"January 21, 1935.

Angus Mealey is now

the bishop ofTynecastle."

It was inevitable.

I must say that I was rather pleased

with my reaction to the news.

I would have been so disappointed

if I'd been jealous.

But I wasn't, and I'm not.

- I'm truly happy for Angus.

- I'm sure he is too.

You see?

I've long been aware of the difference

between Angus and me.

Angus is a man of great presence

and great charm...

at ease everywhere and with everyone.

I've had scarcely more than,

oh, six friends in all my life.

And those, except for one...

were humble folk.

I suppose it should make me sad to think

of how much he's made of his life...

and how little I've made of mine.

I've bumped my head

so often and so hard...

in my strivings after God.

I mean no disrespect to your bishop...

but it is my personal opinion...

that you are closer to God than he.

Twilights come earlier these days.

The summer and I are almost gone.

And how shall I write this latest...

and saddest entry of them all?

On this day...

I said good-bye to

Reverend Mother Maria-Veronica.

How does one say good-bye

to a friend...

with whom one has shared

disappointments... and accomplishments...

of almost a lifetime?

Who'd worked together

for so many years-

through revolution,

pestilence, famine and poverty-

and had come to know each other

very well?

When I insisted that I didn't

want to leave my mission...

she made me foolishly happy

by encouraging my rebellion.

And yet both of us knew that we could

not consider our own preferences...

against the manifest wisdom

of the appointment...

and that- to quote the wisest man

I've ever known-

we would

"let Almighty God have his way."

And may that Almighty God

watch over her...

and bless her and keep her...

always.

My dear friend...

I shall never forget you.

You young idiot,

what have you been up to?

Sorry, Father. If we hadn't organized it,

they'd have run wild.

- You wouldn't want a riot the day you left.

- A riot. Why-

[Singing Hymn]

Listen to that.

- [Singing Continues]

- It's my favorite hymn.

- A double portion of honey

for each child this evening.

- Yes, Father.

Good-bye, my friend.

- Good-bye, Father.

- [Ends]

Good-bye, Chia Yu.

Good-bye, Father.

God bless you.

Well, Anna...

still my number-one girl.

- And which little Anna are you?

- She's Anna number three.

- Joseph?

- Father.

Reverend and worthy disciple

of the Lord of heaven...

it is with the utmost- the utmost

anguish that we, thy children-

that we, thy children-

we, thy children-

children-

Thank you, Father.

It's no use.

What I was supposed to say

is written on the scroll for you to read.

Twenty times I have said it perfectly

before my wife and children.

But how could I speak to you

in words I have memorized...

like a parrot or a child?

There is no one here

who has not his own memories of you...

and your love and your goodness.

Let them each speak

in their own hearts for themselves.

As for me, dear Father Francis...

I cannot speak.

I have no memories

other than those of you.

I have had no life other than yours.

Joseph, my oldest

and most loyal comrade.

My good friends, what can I say?

I have neither the talent

nor the knowledge...

to find words that would express

what is in my heart.

You would only hear the mouthings

of a sentimental old man...

mortally afraid

of making a fool ofhimself.

Will you let me bless you all?

Lord, let thy most benevolent blessing

fall upon these, thy children...

and through thy grace, bring

to them peace and contentment...

to the end of their days.

[Bell Tolling]

Thank you.

[Tolling Continues]

- Good morning, Father.

- Hmm? Oh.

Good morning. Good morning.

I hope you slept well.

As a matter of fact,

I didn't sleep at all.

Your journal was

on the bookshelf by my bedside...

and I must confess

I spent the night reading it.

I hope you don't mind.

Not at all.

If anything, I'm flattered.

I should imagine that the memories

of a life as ineffectual as mine...

- would guarantee sleep.

- Ineffectual?

It is an honor to have

known you, Father.

Uh, good-bye, Monsignor.

You won't forget to mention to Angus-

I mean, His Grace- about the-

There is nothing I will say

to the bishop that will in any way...

alter your position here...

or your hopes for the future.

- Thank you.

- Thank you, Father Chisholm.

- Thank you!

- Good-bye, Andrew.

Good-bye, Father.

Good-bye.

Well, man, don't stand there

with half the morning gone.

Get the rods.

[Chuckles]

Come along, boy.

Wasn't it just fine of God

to make all the rivers...

and fill them all with little fishes...

and then send you and me

here to catch them, Andrew, hmm?

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