The Great Chain on Urantia

By Nicholas P. Snoek

Nicholas P. Snoek was born in Holland in 1940; grew up in BC, Canada; took a BA with honours in English at UBC in 1963; a high school teaching certificate in 1968, then turned to public accounting in 1973; went to Ontario in 1976 to work at management accounting in the Tri-City area till 1997, and currently lives in Elliot Lake, ON with his wife Barbara trying to be retired, but he keeps on writing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465365538

Nicholas P. Snoek

Nicholas P. Snoek is a Dutch-Canadian with a philosophic bent, who immigrated into B.C. Canada in 1951, the oldest son in a family of eleven; took a year of theology at Univ. of Notre Dame in 1959; a BA with honors in English and French at UBC in 1963; was offered a philosophy of psychology professorship in 1967 but declined it, settling for a teaching certificate in 1968; taught first year philosophy and literature for some years, then worked five years in CA firm in B.C. then twenty years in management accounting in Ontario Canada. Discovered 'The Urantia Book’ in 1973, which has been his main preoccupation ever since. This is his fourth book, "teaching" it.

Book preview

PART ONE OF TWO

CHAPTER1

It is early in the spring of 1940. A young woman suns herself in a small clearing on the mountainside.

She is Queen of all that she surveys!

The Gods have made her tall and strong; she is

Envied by everyone she meets, and there

Are none who dare to challenge her.

          Could any woman not from far off Laya,

Come here to bathe her body in the April sun.

Would local wives have nerve to lie here naked

Upon this rock? How pathetic they are,

Most women. How subject to their men!

          In her house, it is the man who hears and heeds.

She is Woman! In all her life she has not

Known a man who could impress her. A man

To face her toe to toe without averted

Cringing eyes! There were some handsome men,

Some strong, some archers of renown; but none

With character and power. Perhaps in all those

Towns and cities in Tibet or India there are

Such men. But in her world, within her reach,

Anywhere she can ever go, in this

Section of Bhutan . . . where is there such a man?

He would be from far away, like the Traveler.

          Her little spouse would be so hurt if he

But knew that he can only ever be

A shadow of the man she wants. And almost

Two years now, that they are married, but still

No son. She hoped that if she could not find

A man she might succeed in making one.

If she thought less, and wanted less . . . would more

Then come to her? Her pride is in the way?

Some of the teacher monks have said as much:

A fit humility becomes a docile

Wife. But she can never be just docile;

The part of wife is sacrifice enough.

          And their small farm so far above the fertile

Valleys. What can they hope for. What could they

Achieve. Become, what? There is no hope . . .

          Hmm, such a beautiful day. The sun so gentle

In the early season warmth. Spring water

Rustling down the mountain; soft breezes playing

In the trees. So relaxed she feels, like a cat.

Will her big man come here today? The traveler

Coming from the east and leaving to

The west . . . curly black hair, flowing beard

A little gray. A lighter skin than hers.

And oh, such penetrating looks from those

Deep eyes. Where did he come from? What is he?

No monk or hermit. Perhaps a merchant. Or he

Could be a spokesman for a great Neptong,

From a far off country on some official but

A secret quest. Both times he came, he made

No sound. He suddenly appeared in front

Of her, and stood and looked, without a word.

Although she was completely nude she stood

Full length in front of him and felt no shame,

Nor any fear. She thought of putting on

Her kira, but she did not. He smiled then,

Just a bit, and bowed. He bowed to her!

And then he walked away. Without a backward

Look he just strode on with those long legs,

And disappeared. So quick! And she just stood,

A little lost. She did not want to see

Him go, especially the second time.

          It looks as if she hugs the earth,

Arms and legs spread wide, her shiny shoulder

Length black hair is reaching down as if

It too is holding to the rock. She is

Already tanned, her skin a soft and smooth

Dark brown in one unbroken tone the whole

Way down. She looks quite tall, though lying down,

And well proportioned.

          The late day sun is lengthening the shadows

Of stately pines across the rocky meadow;

The sky is losing blue to twilight gray.

The silver tips of springtime trees resist

This dying of the light; they wave a silent

Warning to the sunshine devotee . . .

          You’re not alone. You’re not alone!

Genesis 1.

And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. . . . And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh thereof: And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man . . . . And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed.

The woman in the clearing is oblivious to a furtive movement between the trees, some seventy feet away, on the right. Something or someone is coming! A large and almost upright form. An ape? A man? It’s moving towards the woman on the rock, keeping her in sight. Stalking her.

She lies there motionless, absorbing the last of the waning sun, thinking of her childhood in far away Laya close to Tibet, where women wear their hair long and wild.

She hears a sound on her left. She looks around quickly. Yes! It’s him! The Traveler has found her again. He comes confidently towards her. He looks the same except for a bundle over his shoulder.

She rises, and faces him. Now she does not even think about her kira. He stops, closer this time than before. He smiles, and puts down the bundle to one side. And he speaks . . .

Hello. What is your name?

Cheoki.

May I rest here with you?

Yes, of course.

They sit down side by side. He does not stare, or act in any way uncomfortable about her nakedness.

You enjoy the sunshine.

It feels so good.

It does. And without another word he too, removes his robe. She is surprised. She does not know what to do, so she just sits without moving or speaking. And he does the same.

He is well built, and surprisingly muscular for one so lean. After a few minutes, he puts his arm around her, and pulls her gently closer. She does not protest. He puts his head down to hers, and caresses her temple with his lips.

She tips up her head, and he kisses her forehead, her eyes, her mouth. And his other hand now slides along her cheek, and her neck, and down her arm, and up over her breast.

He explores her yielding body, with his hands and his mouth. There is no sound. They are intent on each other and do not notice they are being watched.

Thirty feet away is a hairy two legged man-ape, or ape-man, standing half hidden behind a tree. He is completely covered with reddish blond hair, about two inches long.

He has strange deep set eyes. They are green-yellowish, like a cat. His ears are a bit pointed, and the hair on his head looks piled up like a cone. A massive jaw, but almost no chin, like an ape. There is less hair on his face, almost none on the upper part, and no beard or whiskers.

His hands are like a man, but hairy on top. His legs are man-like, but short for his height. Very wide feet, also hairy. A barrel chest, muscles on muscles!

He watches the man and woman as they come together; they strain and heave, and then slow-move with gentle touch, turn by turn. He is aroused. He seems uncertain what to do, several times turning to go, but then drawn back to watch.

Then slowly he walks towards them. He has a limp. One leg seems shorter. He stops about fifteen feet away. The woman is on her back; the man lies on her, spent. They do not see the apeman till they roll aside and part, still breathing hard.

She gasps, Who’s that, look! What is that?

The traveler quickly grabs his ko and pulls a long knife from its folds. He steps between the woman and the creature and waits to see what will happen. The apeman does not move. He also waits. The traveler takes two quick steps towards the beast and with a threatening gesture, yells Go, get away. Go! Go!

The creature seems to understand. He half turns and backs away a little, then gets behind some bushes. But he does not leave. He stays just out of sight, and watches.

Hastily the man and woman get dressed again, and, looking back often to see if they are followed, hurry down the mountain. The apeman does not look at them. His long arms hanging limp, he wanders erratically into the trees.

Cheoki, Was that a Yeh-Teh?

Yes, I guess so. Have you seen any around here before?

No, never. I’ve never heard of anyone else seeing them here either.

Probably just passing through, then. He did not seem dangerous. Just curious.

I suppose so.

Will you be here again?

Yes.

Without another word, they separate. She wanders homeward, thinking. Is this the way of a lover. Is he her lover? What sort of woman is she, to let him do this. She should feel shame. But she does not. It seemed . . . right. How strange. A powerful man.

Her little husband would go crazy to learn of this. It will be hard to keep him from seeing the bruises on her back, as he likes to make the creature with two backs and six legs.

But what a man, this traveler!

It is two weeks later. Cheoki has several times come to the spot of her tryst, but without undressing, and staying back a good distance, watching to see if anyone is around.

Having seen no one since then, she is back to sunbathing today.

How smooth this naked rock against her naked belly. She could dream and sleep and sleep and dream all day. About a man, about no man. About a son. She should get back to that poor little farm.

Genesis 6.

And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.

What! No!

A sudden weight on her legs and back. She heard no sound! What is this? Some hairy smelly foul big monster is crushing her! Get off me, brute!

Is this the Sa-Bdag spirit-creature come to take her into some cave to punish her for her mockery? Can this be happening?

Get your paw off my mouth! You’re hurting me; I’m not yelling! And get your hairy arm off me!

She struggles with all her might to pull away but it’s no use. How can he hold her with such force and yet be so quiet? He is not even breathing hard.

If she cries out he may choke her! She will keep still.

Yes, he takes his mitt away. She dares not turn to look. His arm still locks her to him. What strength!

He bends her forward. One hand is doing something between them. Oh no, No, NO! He wants me! No, NO, HELP, someone Help! She fights, she pulls, pushes, twists and turns, in vain!

Without effort, almost gently, he enters her. Get out of there, you bastard! She tries to pull away, but there’s no point . . . she is a fussing child before him. Two ham hands one on each hip hold her like a doll, and there is nothing she can do! She tries desperately to reach him, but the only way is down past her legs. She scratches and claws at his legs, and tries to move them. Her nails don’t penetrate at all; they have no effect. His feet seem rooted to the rock and his legs are just like tree trunks.

He hardly moves his body, pushing her back and forth over his member like an oversized foreskin. How belittling!

Degrading! He makes her feel so small, so helpless.

He stinks.

He is growling his contentment. A deep earthquake guttural sound. Not human. This must be the Yeh-Teh!

He is done!

But he does not let her go. He turns her, and looks her up and down. She feels dirty! She feels used. Her knees shake so bad she cannot stand, and slowly she sinks down.

Luke 1.

The angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, to a virgin espoused . . . And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son . . . Then said Mary unto the angel, How shall this be, seeing I know not a man? And the angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee . . . .

He holds her arm with his left hand, not very tight but when she tries to move, his grip almost breaks her bones.

Okay, what now you beast, you’ve had what you want, let go. Let me go! He just looks at her without a sound.

This is the creature who watched them.

Okay, okay, let me go. What do you want? He pokes her breast with his finger. He grunts.

Stop that!

He grabs her hair and pulls as if to see if it comes loose. He smells it and snorts. He starts to sniff her all over. He licks her down there.

He stands upright and looks up and down the hillside.

Then into her eyes, calmly. He seems almost human now. With one swift move he girdles her with his long arm and picks her up.

She groans, What now! How humiliating! How maddening!

He strides along the side of the mountain, and after two or three steps he swings her over his shoulder, like a sack. She can feel the extra sway as he limps, when the weight goes on his left leg. The stink is bad, and his shoulder burrowing in her belly . . . she gets suddenly sick, and vomits violently. Just misses getting it all over his back. He takes no notice of this, and keeps on walking.

Here we go. A piece of baggage. A Yeh-Teh toy. A pet!

A pet! No, she will NOT be an AMUSEMENT! She has to do something. He held her mouth, before. She wonders if noise might have an effect, maybe frighten him.

She starts to scream with all her might.

He sets her down. And she continues screaming. He puts his hand over her mouth forcing her to stop. He looks around uncertainly, and seems to wonder what to do.

And the moment he takes his hand away she screams again. He covers his ears. He cannot stand her screams! She starts to run away but he follows her. She turns and faces him and screeches her loudest. He stands and looks at her in annoyed disbelief.

She turns and runs again. This time he just watches.

She scoops up her kira and runs, not looking back at all.

She runs and runs, as fast as she can, till she gets to the stream behind the shed.

She washes and washes in the icy water, and puts on her kira, and straightens her hair.

And softly she enters the house, the home of her sweet husband!

CHAPTER 2

Bhutan, July 1940

A young woman is working her way through a small stand of barley, stooping now and then to pull a weed.

Hello, Tesla.

What? Cheoki? What a nice surprise! How good to see you.

Tesla, I am with child!

Well! That’s good. What did Gendun say. Or does he know? You aren’t big yet, are you.

No, he doesn’t know. It’s still early. But this is my first, and well, I’ve been very worried. I just thought I should stay with you for a while. Is that alright?

Of course it is. I haven’t seen you for so long! But you know I have no experience in these things. I haven’t married or even been with a man. I know nothing about babies.

That’s okay, I can tell you what to do. I helped others with this before, so I can show you what you have to know. We’ve got a lot to catch up on anyway. When I get closer we can decide exactly what needs to be done.

But that’s a long time. What’s Gendun going to think?

I’ve told him I need to see a shaman about not having a baby these last two years, and I would be gone as long as five months. And not to look for me, because that might interfere.

Well I must say. You have a way with that man of yours. It’s unbelievable!

Tesla is a smaller woman than Cheoki, and plainer. She too grew up in Laya, but unlike her more confident sister, she has adopted the short cropped hair of her neighbors, and her kira is of the local variety. But she has some of her sister’s spirit. She lives alone, as she has not found a man she cares to be with, and because of this, a thing very much frowned on, she has a tiny house, and a tiny plot of ground to farm. But, she manages well enough.

The two sisters live contentedly for several months. The house is in Haa, a little place close to the border.

Summer passes quietly into autumn. Harvesting the barley by hand, stripping the stalks between two sticks as is the custom, keeps them busy for many weeks. The mountain winds blow colder, and the oak and walnut leaves are turning red and brown.

Well, you’re getting bigger every day.

Tesla, I’ve got to tell you something. This baby may not be Gendun’s. One day in the spring I was sunning myself up the hill, and a traveler came and raped me. He was a big strong hairy man. He was so fast and so powerful, there was nothing I could do, nothing. You have to believe me. I couldn’t stop him no matter what I tried. Do you understand?

Well, I guess so. You and your headstrong ways! What do you mean, sunning yourself. Naked? Defying the gods! Can you blame a man? Does Gendun know anything at all about this?

Of course not. You can’t expect a husband to accept such a thing. He would be crushed. And it would be even worse if the baby is not his. Do you see what I mean?

Yes, right. But how will you know? A baby is a baby. The little thing can hardly tell you who his father was!

I know, I know. But that’s the biggest reason I’m here. If there is anything different about this baby, anything at all, I will not keep it. You’d have to help me do something with it, Tesla. And Gendun must never know.

Oh, may the Gods protect us. What are we getting into now! Of all the people in the world who could be my sister . . . nice quiet gentle people, who never get into trouble. Women who do not fill their heads with strange ideas about who they are, or could be. Cheoki, Cheoki. What will become of us!

Now don’t get all excited, Tesla. Probably the baby will be perfectly normal and everything will be fine. Relax. I’m not talking about killing it. Besides, it’ll be a while yet.

If this is not about killing it, what are you talking about? What could we do with it?

Do you remember that Christian monastery close to Sikkim about two days from here? Well, if there’s anything strange about this baby I think we should take it there.

They’ll tell us to take it somewhere else, for sure! We’re supposed to be Buddhist, remember.

No, we won’t get into that. Buddhist or Christian makes no difference for this. They would keep a baby there. I heard it has happened at other monasteries. We would just leave it at the gate for them to find. No one would know who brought it.

Cheoki. You’ve got this worked out to the last detail. Is there more to this than you’ve told me?

Well, I have had some strange dreams. But I really can’t tell you much. It’s all very confusing. I keep seeing these two-legged hairy creatures laughing at me. Then I scream at them. And then I wake up. All sweaty and cold and scared.

Hairy creatures? Like what? Do you mean like monkeys?

No, men, sort of. Big abominable men. Hairy men.

Well, that traveler has had quite an effect on you. You better get him out of your head before you go crazy.

You may be right. Okay, I’ll try that, I just will not think about him any more. I’ll forget about him.

Yes. It’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.

But she cannot forget the traveler. Or the apeman.

It’s later in the evening, and Cheoki is fast asleep.

/// She is drifting, floating above her sister’s little cottage. She can see down the valley; the moon lights up the bank of the stream, and the trees shine almost white.

She feels a curious pull to one side, as though impelled to leave here, and go towards the left. Somewhat dreamily she consents and starts to drift away. And she moves, faster and faster. She is flying!

She cannot feel the air. It seems to her she should be cold, she is moving so fast. How can this be?

She rises, up and up, along the mountainside. And still she wonders that she is not cold. She passes over the dense rhododendron thickets. There is snow below her now, and soon there are no more trees to soften the rocky slope. Steep and ragged rocks seem to be reaching for her queasy stomach, but somehow they always miss; without aware involvement on her part she floats in safety past, so close at times she thinks she could almost touch them. But the urge to try is not enough to vex her quiet peaceful ride.

She has gone over the peaks now, and is going down the other side. The land is starting to flatten. Her speed increases more and more, until the countryside flies past in barely punctuated blur. Several times she sees a town, not like the settlements in Bhutan, where a central dzong holds all the local habitation in its sway. No, these have networks of streets, and equal sized houses spaced along them, and they do not seem to have animal shelter underneath. But it all goes by so fast she barely has time to wonder.

Where is she going? She’s slowing down. And the night is ending; she sees the moon fade. So quickly. And over there the sun’s already coming bright. It almost jumps into the sky!

She approaches some tree covered hills. Where is she? Her speed continues to decrease.

She’s barely going as fast as a running dog, now. There is a path below her. Her body slowly comes vertical, as if she were a bird, coming in to land. She does. She lands, just beside the path, among the trees. What is she doing here? Why is she here?

She hears a cry. A strange sort of voice, but a voice. It’s coming from a small clearing she can just make out, farther up the path.

She peers around the tree trunks to see where the sound came from. And she sees several, what . . . people? Or not? One of them, a female, is squatting by an overturned rock, digging with a stick. And two others are looking down at her, watching. They’re younger.

All of them are very hairy. And completely naked.

She goes closer, carefully, till she’s less than thirty feet away. There is no sound. Except the scraping of the stick in the dirt.

They suddenly stop, and look towards one side of the clearing where another one has just come out of what seems to be a hole in a bank of dirt. He is bigger. And he’s wearing something over his shoulders and on his chest. The tattered remnants of a ko? Very dirty, and gray from sun and water.

He stops close to the others, and all of them are suddenly moving their hands and arms around as if making signs in the air. And their heads are bobbing and leaning this way and that, all to the accompaniment of rolling growls and complaining cries.

Cheoki wonders if they are people. They are something like apes. And something like people. How strange.

And then, as quickly as he came, the large male is leaving the others. They’re crying. But he looks angry and determined. He is coming down the path, towards her.

Cheoki is afraid, but has no time to move. He’s going to see her. What should she do? To her astonishment he walks past her, only inches away, without seeing her. He is not blind. Why did he not see her? He must be very upset!

She feels she understands what was happening here. The male has been trying to imitate and get closer to people, like herself, and his family does not like it. People, like herself? Could he be the one?

No, the one who took her was not wearing anything. But he could loose that—it didn’t look as if it could hang there much longer. He must wear it to be a person, the way children do.

She turns to look at the others again. What? They’re gone! And the clearing looks different, somehow.

She turns back, expecting to see the male going down the path behind her, but he’s not there. And there is no path; it is gone! What’s happening?

She looks towards the clearing now. The hole in the bank is still there. But it’s bigger, and the bank seems more rocky.

Then she hears the sound of a horse, a subdued whinny. Looking around, she spies a number of horses, and men in uniforms, with guns. They are tying up the horses, and it looks as if they’re starting to surround the cave. Soldiers. What is happening here?

One of them is quietly approaching the hole in the bank from one side. He carries no gun, but has something in one hand. Suddenly he throws the thing into the cave, then he runs back where he came from.

There is a muffled boom, and a cloud of dust comes from the mouth of the cave. And out of the dust come staggering three of the same creatures she saw before. They are darker. One is barely moving, apparently hurt badly.

All around her there is gunfire, and the three apemen drop like animals, doubling over and kicking, retching, and bleeding.

Why? Why did they do that?

The soldiers come straggling out of the trees, and go over to view their victims. They seem neither concerned nor very involved, casually poking at the bodies with their bayonets to see what these creatures look like.

They go back to their horses, leaving everything as it is, without even looking inside the cave. They’re breaking out rations, and preparing to make a fire.\\\

Cheoki wakes up, stretching lazily. She is hungry. Tesla, come on, get up. Let’s put on some tea.

More months go by, and now the time has come.

Tesla, can we get ready? I think my time is here. I’m having pains. And don’t talk about getting help. People have been doing this forever without any shamans interfering. It’s a natural thing. Besides, the weather is very bad; before anyone got here it would be too late.

Alright, Cheoki. But don’t blame me if anything goes wrong. I will do what I can, and you just tell me what you want. I know there’s no point in arguing with you anyway.

It’s a cold December in 1940. Snow has piled against the door, and there is the familiar sound of the wind howling around the tiny house. The sisters wait. Cheoki’s labor intensifies.

It is near midnight. A strong contraction convulses her sweaty tired body.

Cheoki, it’s coming, it’s coming! No reply.

Again, come on, come on! There it is. Here it is!

Still no sound from Cheoki. And now, no sound from her sister.

After half a minute, Tesla, what is it. Why don’t you say anything? What’s happening?

Hesitating, It’s a boy, Cheoki.

Okay, okay. A boy. What else? Let me see!

He is . . . kind of hairy.

Oh no, No, NO! I knew it! A little bastard ape thing! Get it away from me. Oh, I knew it, I KNEW it! What am I going to do? I feel so dirty! A little monster, out of my body!

Hush now! Calm down, relax! Tesla ties the cord and washes the baby calmly, absentmindedly, as if she had rehearsed the whole procedure.

Cheoki, this baby is not a monster. He’s not an ape either. He is a bit fuzzy, but otherwise he’s a fine baby.

A bit fuzzy! Well, you may be right. But I’m not keeping it. I cannot explain that hair. Tomorrow we go to the monastery. I will feed him till we set him in front of that door. And then we’ll just walk away. And Gendun will never know, never! Do you hear me?

CHAPTER 3

Near Yatung, December 1940

Brother Andre, Brother Andre, come quick! Come see!

Calm yourself, Brother Guillaume, calm yourself, and tell me what is the matter.

Someone left a baby at the gate. A little newborn baby! And it’s all fuzzy and hairy. And it’s crying! Come! Quick! It’s crying!

May the Lord have mercy on us, what’s happening now. Well, let’s go and see this marvel. A crying, fuzzy baby. Was anyone there? Was there no one with the baby?

No one at all, Brother Andre. There was nobody in sight. They never even knocked or anything. The wood hauling party was just going out for the day, and when they opened the gate, there it was. It wasn’t crying then. It started crying after they picked it up. And it hasn’t stopped.

Alright, alright. Go to the kitchen and tell Brother Rudolph to prepare a drink of goat milk with dripping of soaked oatmeal and a little honey. Do you understand?

Oatmeal? And honey? Brother Andre, are these things to give to a baby? Should we not find a nurse for it?

Brother Guillaume, do you think the baby should continue to cry? Now this is not the way to the kitchen. Go speak to Brother Rudolph. Go directly to Brother Rudolph and deliver your message.

The good monk scurries away.

Brother Andre is an older man, of medium height, with thin gray hair absentmindedly radiating from his head. He has a talent for being forceful and kind at the same time. Accustomed to being heard and heeded, he bears his burdens of responsibility with quiet confidence.

Seventeen years ago, when he first approached his bishop in New Jersey about this ambition to create a lay Christian monastery in remote Bhutan, he encountered a stone wall of resistance. But he quietly persisted, meeting each objection with just the right sort of answer, having many things already in place, so that eventually he prevailed. And aside from a monthly letter to the bishop, consisting mostly of chatty news, he has been running this outpost of Christianity without let or hindrance from anyone, for almost eighteen years now.

Two members of the wood party are at the gate. One of them is wandering back and forth, talking to and shaking a blanket bundle. He sounds a little desperate.

The Lord be with you, good Brother. And what have you got there. Is it as Brother Guillaume said? A fuzzy baby in your husky arms? What a sight is this! Yes, yes. A restless, oh my, a very hairy baby. Well, give it to me, and be on your way. You can catch up with the others if you hurry.

Brother Andre takes his bundle to the kitchen. A portly monk, classic caricature, with a dark head-band of hair accentuating an otherwise bald head, is standing by the counter, frowning at a bowl.

Well Brother Rudolph, how fare you this morning? Do you have the baby’s breakfast ready? You do. Good. So let me see you feed the baby. Now don’t fuss. Just feed the baby.

But Brother Andre, we have no nipple! How can the baby drink this without a nipple to suck it up?

Mmm, yes, let me see. Ah. We have some nipples, we certainly do. There’s some rubber gloves in the storage room. Cut the little finger off a glove, turn it inside out, make a little hole in the end, and stretch it onto a bottle of this wonderful baby breakfast. That should work just fine, alright? I must go to chapel now to lead mid-morning prayer. When the baby is fed, find some suitable cloths and see if a change of habit is in order. Diapers, yes, replace the baby’s diaper with a clean cloth. Then come to prayer. We will understand if you’re a bit late.

In the chapel some fifty lay brothers are at prayer. They finish with a sonorous chant. ‘Per Dominum nostrum Jesum Christum Filium tuum . . . . ‘

Brother Andre addresses the group.

"Brothers in the Lord. This morning we were blessed with a special visit; a newborn baby was brought to us. It was left at the gate, as if by an angel. And so far, we have no way of knowing who brought it here.

We must consider this a trial. A test of our worthiness as Lay Brothers of Jesus.

We instructed Brother Rudolph to care for the baby before joining us here. I do not see him among us; we must presume he has had some difficulty. In any case, you are to know we have a new young life in our midst.

Unless and until we find who brought it here, we must adopt this little one. If any of you are asked to take part in this task you will do so with your customary diligence and care, and without question.

Now, if there is one among you who may be more suited than the others, either by experience or interest, to care for this little creature personally, please come and speak to me before our evening meal. In the meantime, Brother Boniface, will you choose a companion to go to Sombe with you to acquire the necessary supplies. Come and see me when you’re ready to leave.

Brothers one and all, may God be with you."

Brother Andre goes back to the kitchen.

Well Brother Rudolph, it seems your babycare duties have entirely replaced mid-morning prayer. Tell me how this has come about. What is the problem?

Brother Andre, please forgive me. I tried everything, but my clumsy old fool hands . . . this tiny baby. I can’t get it to stop crying. I fed it and changed it and still he cries and cries. He won’t stop!

It’s a boy, then. Good. Now, if he’s changed and fed . . . Let’s see. Have you burped him?

Burped him?

Yes, burped him. You pick him up, put his head over your shoulder, and pat his back gently like this, to encourage him to burp. A baby does not have the control or the strength to relieve stomach gases by himself. So you help him along a little. There! You see? He should be okay now. He will likely want a nap.

Brother Andre, I’m worried about the baby’s . . . skin.

The baby’s skin, Brother? Is there a problem with the baby’s skin?

Well, the hair all over, almost like down. Or fur.

"Don’t upset yourself, Brother Rudolph. What you see is called lanugo. Every now and then a baby is born with this woolliness. It goes away after a few days.

See, he’s dozing off. I’ll go speak to Brother Joseph about making a cradle for this little fellow. God be with you, Brother. I trust you’ll be saying your missed prayers."

Brother Andre makes his way to the carpentry shop, where a monk is intently measuring some boards.

Brother Joseph, it would be good if our little baby had a cradle, so he could sleep in a small and secure place without fear of falling.

Yes Brother Andre, I thought you might come for this, so I’ve already selected some good cedar boards. A cradle will be ready very shortly. A good sturdy cedar bed. I made this drawing of a cradle or crib that will rock or stand solid . . . just put in or take out two little spacers, right here.

Brother, you’re a model of industry. Carry on, carry on.

Brother Andre retires to his study. He is in deep meditation when a tall gaunt monk knocks at the door. The petitioner resembles Abraham Lincoln, with rough hewn features, deep set eyes and tight unruly dark hair, but happily a somewhat smaller nose.

Brother Andre. I should like to care for this baby.

"Ah, yes. Brother Cyprios. I’m so pleased you came forward. You are the one here, I think, who seems to have the qualities this little one will need in a mentor. You’re a teacher, and you have been a wise and caring father. We haven’t forgotten how you lost your family.

Nor have we failed to note your diligence in the library. Your beloved Shakespeare, no doubt. Brother Cyprios, I understand you’re writing a book? Another Elizabethan study?"

Yes Brother Andre, I am.

And are you certain your new duties and your book will not be a conflict for you, so you would not be serving two masters?

Yes Brother Andre, I am.

"Good, good. Alright, you will go to Brother Joseph and ask him to give you the cradle when it’s ready. I will instruct Brother Boniface to bring the baby supplies to your room. When you have prepared these things and your quarters are ready, you may go to Brother Rudolph for the baby. After some months we will see about moving you to adjoining cells, so the little one will sleep in his own room, accessible to yours.

Now, it’s Friday today. Try to think of a name, so we may baptize him on Sunday."

Yes Brother Andre, I will do so.

"One more thing, Brother Cyprios. The baby may not be what you expect. He is covered with an unusual amount of hair. This does happen with some babies and will normally clear up in a few days. But this little fellow is almost shaggy. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.

Just be forewarned that we may not have a normal child here, and that could be why it was brought to us. We’ll be anxious to hear your observations as the baby gets a little older. And I trust you will be discreet about this."

Yes, Brother Andre.

Good. You will assume he is a normal human child. I think the best approach would be to treat this little foundling as if he were your son.

Yes Brother Andre, that would likely be best.

"Very well. Now, one more thing. It’s conceivable that someday his parents or other relatives may come forward and claim this baby. We must therefore keep a record of any and all events in which such persons would have any interest, partly for their better knowing the child, and partly for us to demonstrate that we are doing our best for him.

So, as today is the 20th of December, and we have no better information, we suggest your first entry should place his birth date as 18 December 1940. Then make a record as best you see fit, of all current and future events that you think might be of interest to his parents."

"Yes Brother Andre, I will.

CHAPTER 4

XXXV

"No more be grieved at that which thou hadst done

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;

Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,

And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

All men make faults, and even I in this,

Authorizing thy trespass with compare,

Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,

Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;

For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,

Thy adverse party is thy advocate,

And ‘gainst myself a lawful plea commence:

Such civil war is in my love and hate,

That I an accessory needs must be

To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me."

W. Shakespeare

18 December 1940

Brother Cyprios, at his desk.

Notes to a diary for a foundling . . .

Today was born in the hamlet of Sombe a male;

A male of the order primate and the genus homo,

But hairy and furry to an unprecedented degree.

Wrapped in swaddling clothes as a god can be,

But eating and crying and wetting like any baby.

21 December 1940

Brother Cyprios walks alone in the square . . .

A package, a deliverance, a visitation has come,

A little bundle of joy as they say. But wait,

Who brought him here? Something is very wrong . . .

The parents are nowhere in evidence. No one affirms

With name and honored line the patronage, the lineage,

The heir. The heir to what, we wonder. What story

Lies behind this foundling, what origin?

What secret shame, this covert way to orphan him;

To leave him at our gate in anonymity.

What father sin, implied in this dark fur?

But put aside all this imagining;

Although we have some doubts about this bundle,

We must remember that he is also part

Of God’s creation. And whether or no he can

Become a Son of God will be revealed

In the warp of time, and this may well depend

To some extent upon our efforts. Our loving

Care, focusing and channeling the love of God,

May bring this little creature to spirit life.

All things are possible to God. All things.

The child seems human; it has a human form,

Its limbs, the size and shape of head, the chin,

All these are man: no question that the voice

Is strong and modulated as a human voice would be.

But oh, so furry and so hairy; we know not

What to make of that. So we declare he is

A human child by default, by decree.

And now, we are assigned to find a name;

The onomastic exercise, a challenge.

There are two ways to choose a name. We name

A child to lead him, to guide him with a constant

Goal of emulation, to live a life

That would be worthy of that name, chosen

From the roster of the Holy Saints.

The other way; a name should be that name

As suits the character, the personality and style,

In short, the essence of the man. But here

We know but what we see, and what we see

Is worrisome. We have no knowledge whatsoever

Of family, of background, of heritage or language . . .

And even race is questionable here:

Even humanness is open to a question here.

But no, we cannot stray into that fog

Of doubt and fear. The battle cry must be

An Onward Christian Soldiers! A confident and

Hearty optimistic stand against all denigration,

And let the Devil take the hindmost. Alright!

What sort of name. If we call him for a saint

What might that do? Would he appropriately

Confirm the goal and mission of our Brotherhood,

Wrapped in the warm accepting comfort of a Peter,

Or an Andrew. A James, a Simon or a Luke? A Judas?

Yes, we must reflect on that as well. A Judas.

What if this shagginess persists, and what

If, failing all my love and all my care,

This little one does not respond; becomes,

Remains, persists intractable. What then?

What if he comes to be in deed, what now

He only looks like . . . a little monster!

What shame to carry then the name of

Blessed Saint. Alright, the other way; how best

Can we reflect the little that we know

About this orphan? We cannot call him Harry!

But some such neutral type of name would be

The safest; some common and generic name

Like John or Jack. Yes, Jack. Jacko, me boy!

Good enough. Jack it shall be. Jack the Ripper.

Now stop that! You cannot play that foolish game.

Keep it pure and do it well. Alright.

What else is here for our concern. A Jack

Will be just fine within our monastery, but monks

Have names for politic and legal matters; our Jack

Must have a surname, and here we have some scope

To be a little more inventive. Let’s see. A hairy babe.

A hairy man. A Yeti, an Almas, or a Mi-Go. That’s it!

Jack Migo. A perfect name! Only a person with

Some perspicuity, with knowledge of our backdrop here,

Would follow that connection. That’s settled.

The boy will