Iain Banks - The Crow Road

"Here we are," Aunt Antonia announced from the door, appearing with a tray full of crockery. There was a pause while tea was poured, biscuits dispensed. "Shall I stay here, dear?" Aunt Tone asked Hamish.

I thought she looked worse than mum did. Her face was drawn, there were dark shadows under her eyes; even her brown, bunned hair looked greyer than I remembered.

Her husband ignored her, talking on as before, though now having apparently shifted his attention to the cup of tea Aunt Tone had placed in front of him on the puzzle tray. His thumbs were still circling each other.

"Went to the Argyll Lounge; good view of the harbour from there. Drank pints. It was like when we were younger. Had a cigar. Good chat, really. Rang the office, said I was playing truant. He rang Lochgair. We were going to go for a Chinese meal, just for old time's sake, but we never got round to it. Thought it would be fun to go on a bit of a pub-crawl, so we went on to the Gallery bar, in the Steam Packet. That was where we started talking about faith."

Uncle Hamish stopped talking, took up his cup of tea, sipped quickly from it without raising his gaze from the tray, then replaced the cup in the saucer. "He called me a crack-pot," Hamish said. His eyebrows rose up his forehead; his voice rose too. Then it fell again as he said, "I called him a fool."

Hamish looked quickly, furtively, at my mother. "Sorry," he mumbled, and looked forward at the tray and the puzzle again. He sighed; his thumbs kept going round. "I told him Christ loved him and he just laughed," Hamish complained. "He refused to see; he refused to understand. I told him he was like a blind man, like somebody who would not open their eyes; all he had to do was accept Christ into his life and suddenly everything would fall into place. The world would look a different place; a whole new plane of existence would open up. I explained that all we did here was merely a preparation for the next life, where we would be judged, punished and rewarded." Hamish shook his head, face radiating dismay. "He went all snide, asked me when exactly I'd had the brain by-pass operation."

(God — or whatever — help me; at that point, despite it all, I had to stifle a guffaw. I coughed, and dabbed at my suddenly brimming eyes with a tissue.)

Hamish rattled on. "I told him that only religion gave any meaning to life; only God, as an absolute, gave us a… peg to hang our philosophies on. What was the meaning of life, otherwise? He said, What meaning? He said, How long is a piece of string? and, What colour is the wind?" Uncle Hamish shook his head again. "I told him faith was love, the most beautiful thing in the world. He said it was nonsense, surrendering our humanity. Humanity!" Hamish scoffed. "Religion gives us rules; it can keep people from doing wrong; it helps us be good. But he wasn't having it, would not listen. 'Religion is politics, he told me, several times. As though repeating it made it true. 'Religion is politics! Religion is politics! Blasphemed. We left the last bar — can't even remember which one it was, to be honest — and we were walking back here, for a nightcap, I think, coming along Shore Road — I left the car in the Steam Packet Hotel car park, of course — and we had some argument about the Shore Street Church. He said he liked it, liked the architecture, but it was really a testament to the skill of humans, not to the glory of God, and just a symbol. I said it was the house of God, and he'd better not trespass." Hamish looked up at mum for a moment. "He was walking along the wall, you see."

Mum nodded. Hamish was already staring at the tray again.

"He said what was any church or temple but a giant, hollow idol? I told him he was sick; he said he was infected with reason. I said Reason was his God, and it was false; it was the true idol." Hamish sighed. "The street was wet; there had been rain. I remember noticing that… Kenneth shouted at me, told me… " Hamish shook his head."… he said; 'Hamish; all the gods are false. Faith itself is idolatry.»

Uncle Hamish swivelled his big, grey head and gazed gloomily at me. His eyes looked cold and jelly-like; they reminded me of frog-spawn discovered in some ditch. "'All the gods are false. Faith itself is idolatry, " Uncle Hamish breathed, staring at me. I shivered. "Can you credit that, Prentice?" He looked down, away from me, shaking his head.

Hamish returned his gaze to the puzzle tray. His thumbs kept circling. "I can't remember exactly what he said," Hamish whispered, and then sighed. "But he jumped off the wall and ran over to the church. He started climbing."

I heard my mother sob once, very quietly.

"I had to climb over the wall," Hamish breathed, "Gate was locked. By the time I got there he was out of reach. I thought he was shinning up a drainpipe. Just assumed. Heard rumbles, I think, but… didn't think anything of it. No flashes, that I can remember. Kenneth was yelling and swearing and shouting imprecations; calling down all sorts of punishment; I was trying to get him to come down; told him he'd fall; told him the police were coming; told him to think of his family. But he kept climbing."

I studied my hands in the pink-tinged light, turning them over and looking at the lines on my palm, the veins on the back. I tried to imagine dad, climbing up that tower, hauling himself up, hand over hand, sweating and straining in the darkness, trusting to his own strength and the cool metal strip beneath his hands.

The block beneath me was silent now; the last of the waves had retreated from it and were breaking further down the beach as the tide went out. The sky was still gaudy with crimson clouds, though much of the brightness had gone. I glanced at my watch. I ought to be jumping down off this thing and heading back to the road; it was a rough hike over the headland, and dangerous in the dark. But the red streaks of the clouds were dissolving as the sunset went on, leaving the sky clear above me. This near the centre of the year, on a clear night, it would never get totally dark. I had a while yet, but I wouldn't leave it too late; mum would worry. That would just be the cherry on it, me taking the Crow Road too.

Uncle Hamish took another sip of his tea, frowned at the cup and spat the tea back into it. "Cold," he said apologetically to his wife. He dabbed at his lips with his handkerchief. I realised only then I hadn't touched the cup that Aunt Tone had poured for me.

Hamish went on: "There was a very strange noise, a sort of humming noise seemed to come from under my feet, from the stones of the church. Couldn't work out what it was, thought it was the drink or just the effect of looking up like that, craning my neck. But it wouldn't go away, and it got louder and I felt my hair stand on end. I shouted up to Kenneth; he was about half-way up, still climbing. Then there was a flash, a blinding flash.

"Saw a glowing red line in front of me, like a vein of burning blood, like lava, in front of me. Noise terrific. Smell of sulphur; something of that nature; smell of the devil, though I think that was just coincidence. Fell down. Half blind, thought a bomb had gone off. Heard ringing, like the church bells all going on at once." Uncle Hamish went to sip from his tea again, then thought the better of it and put the cup back on the saucer. "Realised it had been lightning. I still couldn't believe it; found Kenneth behind me, lying on the grass and a sort of slab thing, over a grave. Hands burned. Been climbing the lightning conductor, blew him off. Don't know if that would have killed him, but he'd landed on the stone. Dead. Blood from his head." Hamish looked slowly over at mum, who was crying silently. "Sorry," he told her.

She didn't say anything.

"Idiot," I whispered, sitting there on Darren's great grey concrete block. "Idiot," I said, and for once I wasn't talking to myself. "Idiot!" I shouted at the sky. "IDIOT!" I bellowed, hands clawing at the pitted concrete surface beneath me. "IDIOT!" I screamed, emptying my lungs to the soft sea airs. Coughing and choking, I sat there, tears in my eyes, breathing hard. Eventually I wiped my nose on my shirt sleeve, feeling like a little kid again, and then sniffed, swallowed, and breathed slower, clenching my teeth to stop my jaw trembling.