Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

At first glance the Reverend thought the man was merely enjoying the resplendent view. After all, that was why Reverend Bill Blight was up here. He was taking his regular afternoon walk along the cliffs, enjoying the marvel of the ocean.

But as he neared the man, the Reverend couldn’t help but notice his tattered clothes. They flapped and danced in the wind, shredded bits of cloth hanging on by the smallest of threads.

He knew this man wasn’t sightseeing — far from it.

The Reverend felt his heart quicken. To see an unfortunate man like this, obviously fed up with the world, filled him with sorrow. He had dealt with many discouraged souls over his forty years of ministry and he had come to discern the signs of self-destruction.

It was his duty to help this man; it was what his life’s work was all about.

The Reverend started deliberately towards the man, and as he neared, caught a whiff of a pungent stench. It smelled of fish that had gone foul, coupled with garbage that had been left out in the sun for too long. The Reverend held his breath, but tried to maintain a pleasant face. He could hear the sea breaking against the shoreline, and the gentle crowing of birds as he stepped up to the stranger.

“Hello, my son,” the Reverend said, letting his breath out. “Beautiful view, isn’t it? Such a glorious day.”

The Reverend turned and looked at the man. He gasped, short and restrained. He had not been prepared for such a sight. The man’s face was extremely pale and there were small chunks in his cheeks and forehead where flesh was missing. What oozed from the wounds was clear and runny.

And the man’s eyes were glassy. The Reverend saw no life in those eyes, no sign of any recognition of his surroundings.

This man is extremely sick .

“It’s okay,” he said to the man, steadying his voice. “I can help you.”

The stranger continued to rock back and forth, gazing out at the sea.

“What’s your name?”

There was no response.

“My name is Reverend Bill Blight. Can you tell me your name?”

The stranger lifted his arm and pointed towards the ocean. He opened his mouth and emitted a low cry.

“Yes, that’s the ocean,” the Reverend said.

The man groaned again, this time with more determination.

The Reverend nodded and smiled.

Maybe he is mentally handicapped, and has wandered from the hospital , he thought. Although he didn’t know of any mental hospitals close by.

“Come, my house is near. You can come back with me and have something to eat.”

The Reverend took a gentle hold of the man’s arm and felt that his shirt was damp. It wasn’t overly wet; it felt as if the winds had blown his once drenched clothes almost completely dry. He started to lead him away from the edge of the bluff.

But the man broke free and began to grunt tenaciously, standing again by the edge of the cliff.

Poor man seems to have a deep affection for the ocean , the Reverend thought. He smiled and gripped the man’s arm once again.

“Come now. I can take you back here later, after you have had something to eat and get cleaned up.”

This time the man went with the Reverend, although he continued to whimper as he was led from the ocean.

The Reverend’s cottage was a comfortable ten-minute walk from the ocean. The tall, wispy grass that covered the cliffs ran all the way back to his house, and the dark sandy soil allowed for very little lush foliage. To the back of his cottage was a collection of small hills. They rose out of the ground like clumps of green clay. It was his own little nest, not too far from town or the church, and up to a few years ago he had felt safe, content living there.

Now the house contained too many unhappy memories.

The late afternoon sun was beginning to soak into the horizon when they arrived at the cottage. He led the man inside and sat him down at the kitchen table.

“We’d better tend to those wounds, my friend.” The Reverend wandered into the bathroom and grabbed a tube of antiseptic cream, some Band-Aids, and a bag of cotton balls. He wandered back to the man and placed the items on the old wooden table.

“This might sting a little, okay?”

The man stared vacantly at the door.

The Reverend dabbed some antiseptic onto the cotton ball and gently patted the cream into the gory wounds. The man didn’t flinch or shriek out in pain. Amazed, the Reverend continued to clean and dress the wounds.

Next he filled the bathtub with steaming water. He had to help undress the man then he threw the dank clothes into the bin. He helped the man into the bath, gave him a bar of soap, then closed the bathroom door and left him to his privacy. In his bedroom he laid some old work clothes out, then strolled into the small lounge room where he took out the phone book and looked up nearby hospitals. There were only two, the closest one being an hour’s drive.

He phoned the first hospital. They had no reports of any patients missing.

He called the second hospital, and was told the same thing.

He thanked them and hung up, puzzled. Who was this man?

Maybe he had come from a private home. If that were the case, it would be near impossible for him to find out where the stranger came from. He had checked the pockets of the man’s clothes before throwing them away and had found no identification.

All he had found was a small, ragged diary lodged in the back pocket of the man’s trousers. Its pages were damp so he had left it to dry on a rack in the lounge.

The Reverend left the phone and headed to the bathroom.

He knocked on the door, then entered.

He frowned. The man was sitting in exactly the same position as he had left him — knees up and clutching at the bar of soap.

He shook his head and grinned. “You look about as dirty as when I found you.”

Emitting a small sigh, the Reverend sauntered up to the bathtub and took the soap from the man’s grasp.

When the Reverend walked into the kitchen, the man was standing by the window, gazing out at the darkening sky. He was clothed in the Reverend’s old work garments, and smelling a lot cleaner. However he looked quite hideous all bandaged up.

The Reverend smiled and walked over. “I will take you back to the beach tomorrow, okay?” He took the man’s arm and was met with resistance. “Come on, you can’t see much now. I promise I will take you. We can spend all day there.”

He led the man to the table. He remained seated while the Reverend prepared the dinner.

“How does beef stew sound?” the Reverend called over his shoulder. He knew full well he wouldn’t get a response, but he didn’t care. He quite liked having the company, even if the company was a simpleton. He turned back around and started cutting the meat.

An hour later, the Reverend took a large plateful of mushy stew over to the man and placed it down in front of him.

“There ya go,” he said with a nod. “Good and hearty.”

The man sat staring at the heap in front of him. He didn’t seem to have any idea as to what to do.

The Reverend took the spoon and shoved it into the man’s hand. He then demonstrated the motion of putting spoon to mouth. Like an artless child, the man copied the Reverend and mouthed a spoonful of the stew.

“That’s the way,” the Reverend said.

But the moment the man tasted the stew, he jerked forward and spat it out.

The Reverend jumped back to avoid the mess. Groaning, the man stood up, toppling the chair over, and dashed over to the bench.

“What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

The Reverend was frightened. Frightened he may have given the man something he was allergic to. Whatever it was it seemed he needed a drink of water.