Sistian glanced at her. “Yozef? What did he do?”
She chuckled. “It isn’t what he did. Brother Fitham took me to the area behind the kitchen where I saw an amazing sight. Yozef and Carnigan were drinking beer while talking and laughing.”
Sistian’s eyebrows rose. “Carnigan! Laughing?”
“Yes! Laughing, although I can’t imagine at what, since he wouldn’t understand Yozef. According to Brother Fitham, Yozef was weeping in the main garden. Fitham was about to go to him when Carnigan stopped working and sat next to Yozef. Soon they were acting like old friends. Sister Mollywin was taken aback when Carnigan showed up at the dining hall and spoke to her. I think it flustered her so much, she didn’t even argue the way she usually does about a break in routine, at least not too much.”
Sistian shook his head. “Carnigan and Yozef? Who would have thought?”
“Maybe it’s simply a matter of two lost souls finding each other at a chance moment.” Diera pressed a finger to her lips. “Almost like God put them together to help them both.”
“Whatever it was, it’s good for them.” The abbot stroked his beard, then glanced at his wife. “I think I’d like to hear Carnigan’s view about what happened. Let’s bring him in tomorrow morning.”
Diera shook her head. “You’re assuming we can get more than two words out of him.”
The rising sun touched peaks of the western hills the next morning when the two Beynoms arrived at the abbey and went directly to the abbot’s office. Sistian spoke to an aide, who then hurried off.
“Brother Elbern will ask Carnigan to join us.” Sistian walked to his chair and sat. Diera moved beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
She looked down and smiled. “And am I correct that from Brother Elbern’s face, he was hesitant?”
Sistian sighed. “Carnigan intimidates everyone. I’ve counseled him to be friendlier, but he looks at me like I’m speaking Narthani.”
“I think it’s also that he’s had little experience with people being friendly to him.” Diera smoothed her dress’s folds. “He’s certainly calmer than when he first came, but it’s as if he’s always sad. Like he’s accepted the status of being apart from others, or perhaps resigned might be a better word.”
A few minutes later there was a knock. Brother Elbern opened the door and stepped in. “Abbess, Abbot, Brother Carnigan is here.”
“Thank you, Elbern,” Diera said. “Please ask him to come in.”
Elbern stepped away, and Carnigan filled the doorway. It wasn’t a small doorway, but only narrow gaps separated the man and the door jams.
Diera stared, folding her arms, tucking her hands into her sleeves. There was the rumor that Carnigan had once killed a steer with a single blow. She’d always assumed it was one of those snide comments people made about someone different who made them uneasy. It was probably just a silly rumor. Probably.
Carnigan stood motionless, his face stoic. If he was surprised at being asked to come to the abbot’s office so early in the morning, he didn’t show it. He and the abbot usually spoke once or twice a month; the abbot would inquire how Carnigan was doing and offer advice. Such counseling was not an option for Carnigan, as it was for other staff, but it would be more effective if it involved two-way conversations, which were seldom forthcoming.
Carnigan’s summons to the abbot’s office was the second unusual event he’d experienced in two days. As he followed Brother Elbern, Carnigan reasoned the two events were connected.
He didn’t know why he had gone to the stranger he had heard other staff members talking about. He’d seen the man walking the grounds and sitting on benches, as many staff, visitors, and Carnigan himself had similarly done.
He had been on his hands and knees, weeding a flowerbed, taking care his bulk didn’t disturb the flowers. Halfway through the bed, he heard weeping on the other side of the bushes. He stopped weeding, rose to his knees, and listened. The sounds were of bone-deep emotional pain. He stood and walked around the parallel path to a junction and to the sounds. It was the stranger, elbows on his thighs, body shaking, head bowed in his hands, tears running between his fingers. Carnigan had stood for several moments, first simply observing, inclined to return to weeding; then he felt he should do something. He sat next to the man, moved closer, put an arm over the man’s back, and gripped a shoulder, saying nothing but sensing the man needed someone there at the moment.
“Thank you for coming, Carnigan,” Diera said. “Please sit.” She motioned to the sturdier of two empty chairs. Diera could see her husband hold his breath as the man eased himself down. The chair survived, although its strained joints audibly complained.
She studied Carnigan’s expressionless face. Whatever went on inside the big man’s mind stayed there. As far as Diera and Sistian knew, there was no one Carnigan spoke with regularly on anything other than work assignments. Neither did he socialize with anyone at the abbey or in Abersford. Several nights a week, Carnigan would walk to a pub in the village. No matter how busy the evening, he sat in a corner table alone, sipping steins of beer. He attended Godsday morning service every week. As far as she knew, that was the sum of Carnigan’s life in his two years at the abbey.
Sistian steepled his fingers. “I understand you met Yozef yesterday.”
Carnigan grunted and gave a brief nod.
“He was troubled, and you sat with him.”
Another grunt.
“Perhaps you could tell us a little about what happened,” Diera said gently, as she sat in the other seat.
“He was just lost for the moment,” Carnigan said in his deep, emotionless voice.
“Carnigan,” Diera said, shifting forward in her seat, hands folded on her lap, “we’ve worried about Yozef since he recovered from whatever happened to him. We can’t communicate with him, and we’re concerned about how to help him.”
“He’s fine.”
So much for in-depth diagnoses. Diera pressed on. “This could be important for Yozef, Carnigan. He was crying, then later he seemed in a better mood.”
“As I said,” Carnigan rumbled, “he was lost for the moment. Once he stopped crying, he was fine.”
Sistian rubbed his cheek. “I think the beers may have helped there.”
“Maybe,” Diera said, “but it might have been just what it seemed. It’s not unusual for someone who suffered a bad experience to get relief by crying. There has even been speculation in medicant circles that crying is God’s gift to help us overcome what might otherwise seem overwhelming.”
Sistian’s expression was one she recognized to signify his doubt, but she knew he would defer to her on this. While she might study people’s behavior with more of a medical slant than his theological one, they both served those in need.
Diera sat back and smoothed her tunic. “Would it be acceptable if we asked you to keep an eye on Yozef for the next few sixdays? Don’t press him if he wants to be alone, but be available for whatever contact he wants.”
“Of course, Abbess,” Carnigan said in a flat tone.
“And try not to let him drink too much, Carnigan,” Diera added, “if for no other reason than he’s still recovering. Remember, his capacity won’t be the same as yours, even when he’s fully recovered.”
Carnigan frowned. It was the first expression Diera saw on his face, as if he was offended at the suggestion he might consume an inordinate amount of alcohol.
“I’ll see he doesn’t drink too much,” Carnigan grated, then rose and left without a by-your-leave or dismissal.