I haven’t seen Terd in a long time. After a few weeks of his coming to the monastery every day, he dropped back to 3 or 4 days each week. As his abbot, I probably should have said something to him, but frankly one of the reasons I wanted him to associate rather than immediately move back in with us was to give him the space to assure himself he really wanted to continue his vocation as a contemplative monk. I know he has expressed his desire to do so and I never doubted his sincerity. But I sensed he is drawn to a new route in his journey through life. That is something to celebrate, in all honesty, but sometimes the pilgrim has not yet realized or admitted it to himself.
I asked for Terd when I stopped at Eric’s yesterday. He’s the PC repair guy who rents Terd a room over his shop in the village of Saugerties.
“He’s gone,” said Eric, looking uncomfortable.
“I wondered,” I said. “We haven’t seen him up at Our Lady’s for a while.”
“Was he actually a monk?” asked Eric.
“Yes,” I said simply.
“He didn’t say where he was off to when he paid up and moved out.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “He knows where we are.” I didn’t want Eric to think Terd was in any kind of trouble with us, so I said, “He’s a good man. He’s still searching. I’ll watch the mail and he’ll write to us.” This last statement was hopeful.
“Oh!” said Eric, “I forgot! Here … he left you an envelope, it’s in the back. Let me get it.”
I carried the letter in my pocket on my way back up to Main Street, where I sat down on the only bench in town, the bench no one ever sits on. No one in my memory, except Terd and I.
What a strange situation! A bench that someone must have thought was useful when they asked the town fathers to install it. Yes, it’s rather close to the curb, facing the street and a car can park directly in front of it. A teenager popped out of his mother’s car one day and banged the door against my knee. I imagined a councilman bringing the existence of the bench to the floor of the village overseers and asking, “What the hell is that stupid bench doing next to the curb on Main St.?”
Terd’s opinion was that it had been installed backward and was meant to sit facing the sidewalk. He was probably right.
“My Brother and Friend, Jesse,” Terd wrote. “I quit. I don’t know why and that’s the reason I didn’t speak to you about my leaving. For a man with an IQ of 176, I’m very confused.” This brought a smile to me. Terd also has a photographic memory. He was probably the person we would have wanted to take to a casino, not Izzy, but he never spoke of his genius to anyone but myself. “My friend Jack got me a job in a pizza shop in Red Hook and Devin is going to apprentice me as a tattoo artist as soon as the students come back to town and his business picks up. I’ll be careful to avoid HIV from the needles! I’ll live at Jack’s. Please let me work this out for myself and don’t call. I love all you guys. Terd.”
God, he’s yours. Please take care of him.
Celtic Women - Amazing Grace
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