Alfie and the Clergyman

‘– Alfred, are you recording this?’

‘I am, Reverend, I am.’

‘To what purpose?’

‘Because it might be the last thing I do. At least this way something’s left behind for posterity.’

‘Surely things can’t be that bad. Let us talk things through. You know it doesn’t have to be like this.’

‘The recording or –’

‘Not the recording, Alfred. That seems pretty inconsequential, does it not?’

‘Not to me it doesn’t, no. In fact it seems entirely appropriate. When you’ve spent most of your adult life working with ink, creating permanence for people, on people, bringing their sense of self-image right out front, making them look how they really feel, the idea that a final act should be recorded and therefore not go unnoticed seems completely logical.’

‘Not inconsequential, then. But I was referring to what you call the final act. You know there doesn’t have to be a final act.’

‘Oh, but there does, Reverend. All the great plays need a final act. And now that the Queen is dead, well, there’s nothing left for me to do but join her. And bring the curtain down.’

‘The Queen. Your wife.’

‘Yeah. My wife. My Ruthie. She was my Princess. She became my Queen. To be honest, Reverend, without her there really is no point. All’s cheerless, dark and deadly, as the poet said.’

‘Byron?’

‘Shakespeare, Reverend, Shakespeare. Kent to Lear on the death of Cordelia.’

‘Ah, Alfred, ever the classicist. So this final act that you talk about. What do you mean by it? Is our conversation to be your final act?’

‘Part of it, Reverend, part of it. But then again, it’s only final to the here and now, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not sure that I follow you.’

‘It all depends on your concept of finality, doesn’t it? I mean, take your lot. People of religion, I mean, and with respect, of course. You believe in an afterlife. Transcending into Heaven and all that. So is whatever happens here final?’

‘Ah, I see. And you, of course, who has no religious belief, still has your own faith in something other than just the here and now. After all, we’ve discussed it many times. It’s one of the remarkable things about you, Alfred, your faith in something other. That and your ability to remain a confirmed atheist and yet engage me with talk of theology that I find wholly fascinating.’

‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how you just used the word confirmed. Another might be avowed. And yet, it’s my atheism you’re referring to with these terms that reek of Christian religious practice.’

‘The routes of Christianity run deep, Alfred.’

‘Do they? Do you really think they do? A couple of thousand years? I’d say that when compared to what the universe can offer as mere theories of an other, as you say, a couple of thousand years is a blink of an eye. Anyway, Reverend, not tonight. I’m not in the mood for debate, theoretical or otherwise tonight. I just needed a witness, to see that there’d been no foul play. And I thought who better? We might disagree but we at least share the ability to question, to wonder at what lies ahead. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve found our discussions fascinating too. But now, it’s time I took a bow.’

‘Alfred, wha – is that loaded? Alfred, please –’

‘Don’t worry, Reverend. I need to go to her. I need to see if I can find her. Goodbye, Reverend. And thank you.’

‘Alfred, stop! –’

‘–’

‘–’

‘I thought it would be so easy. I didn’t see how hard it would be. I need to be with her, Reverend, I need to go.’

‘Alfred, Alfred. My friend. Give me that. Don’t cry, Alfred, it’s alright, it’s all alright. Don’t cry, my friend, don’t cry. That’s it, that’s it. Lean on me. Don’t worry. Don’t –’

BANG!!

–