Andorf's journey

I once went to a writer’s workshop with a woman called Rene, in Cambridge, a small town an hour’s drive from where I live, attended by eight or so writers from the district. Rene opened her session by asking us to jot down anything that we hadn’t thought of writing about before, just short headings to get our imaginations going. Fifteen minutes later, several of us were asked to speak briefly about our topic, I was one who volunteered among two others.

Andorf’s journey is the finished item, started at that workshop:

Andorf’s heart was lighter now that the village was behind them, hoping he’d done the right thing. So many people were dying because of the plague and although it had not yet reached his village, it soon would. His sister, Claire, was not strong but she seemed to be managing all right as they made their journey to another village, considered safer, as it was less frequented by travellers likely to bring the disease from other parts. He looked at Claire again and told her they’d have another rest when they reached the next mile stone.
As they walked his mind thought about the healer, and he seized on that positive thought, held it, wanting to explore and maybe even experience some of the things he’d heard about him. He’d guessed that much was exaggerated, but found it absorbing.

‘Oh … the healer’, a pedlar had replied to his question, ‘Oh yes, he’s a wonder is that man. You know he washes himself … every day!’

Strange, doing that, Andorf thought; still there must be something to it. Then he smiled as he recalled somebody adding, ‘Then there’s the kind of stuff he eats. I don’t know that I could eat nettles. Fancy that. Just the tops mind you.’ And then just a few days ago, he heard an old woman explaining the things she’d seen the healer collect from the woods one day.

Andorf paused to remove a piece of gravel from his sandal and noticed with some concern that Claire had dropped behind as they’d been walking. ‘It’s all right … just a bit out of breath. Give me a few minutes …’ she murmured softly, trying to smile as she looked at him. She was looking quite tired thought Andorf, and he felt a tugging at his throat as a sudden fear came upon him. We still have another seven and a half miles to go and it’s well past noon day, he thought. Perhaps we should have waited a few more days for her to gain more strength. But he knew as he thought that, that it wasn’t true. She came only because I insisted, he chastised himself. If she dies on the way … and he couldn’t prevent a slight sob escaping from his tight lips. As their eyes met, he coughed to hide his embarrassment and gently helped her to her feet.

They walked the rest of the way together, his arm around his sister’s waist and as they reached the next mile stone, they left the road and found a place for her to sit and rest again. Now it was only seven miles but as he looked at his sister again a sudden rush of deep concern quickened his pulse, her face was quite pale and there was a touch of beauty there now that he had not seen before, of such depth and quality, surpassing even those in the pictures on the stained-glass windows in the abbey. Then he was suddenly afraid for her and turned away lest she should see the sadness on his face.

After a while they continued slowly on past two, and then three, more mile stones, joined by others heading in the same direction. Claire was heavier on his arm now, her strength slipping away with each step. The state of the road was no help, with deep ruts filled with filthy water which they had to wade through as there was no way round them. Occasionally they’d come to a grove of trees where it was cool and refreshing and the desire to linger and rest was so inviting. But Andorf was afraid to stop, even when they came to a number of hamlets, wretched dilapidated places where people were so poor it made his heart heavy just to look at them. He blinked away the tears that seeped down into his eyes, increasing the anguish he felt for Claire, so frail and still so beautiful. Her quiet spirit and light infectious laughter had often been the cause of lifting him from some wearisome task, it would break his heart if … and he would not let himself think on but knelt down pretending to retie the thong on his left sandal to give him a moment to recover his composure. How dirty his feet were now and the nail on his big toe …then with a sudden panic he heard a low moan from Claire and turning saw her slump to her knees, her eyes staring and wide open before he could reach her, frightened him.

From one of the doors to his right the figure of a middle-aged woman came running to kneel beside Claire before he could get to his feet, she was talking quietly to her. Then even as he reached her side Claire looked at him, smiled, then closed her eyes as her head fell back onto the woman’s arms. For a moment Andorf couldn’t move, his feet and legs did not respond to his purpose to move, his voice locked within his tightening chest and he felt as if his heart would burst … and that moment seemed so very long. It ended with him feeling weak and empty as if his knees would suddenly give way beneath him as slowly but clearly Andorf knew. Something had gone from his sister, Claire. She was now an empty shell and void of life and in that dread moment, he changed from youth to man.

Somehow it passed and he left the darkness of that scene behind him, the road to the monastery seemed to lift his spirit with each step, as if some purpose for which he had been born was about to be fulfilled. He wondered how things would be for him in such a place and felt again the note inside his doublet, written by the priest who had told him of the healer and his work. Reassured, he continued on his way even though he knew only a handful of novices were taken in each year, now looking cold and forbidding in the distance.
The rising sun soon warmed him as he climbed the hill and knocked at last upon the heavy oaken door. Later that afternoon he was taken in to see the healer, who looked at him for some time before he spoke: ‘Well Andorf, you would like to join our Brotherhood then? Sit down now and tell me something about yourself.’ The voice was quiet and soothing, filled with warmth and encouragement; then the healer listened as Andorf told him of his journey.

Dennis Crompton © 1999
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)