They were about to turn back when Bulos appeared with a few other pupils, all on their way back to the monastery. Bulos greeted Gabriel, gazing hard at him as if intent on ignoring Farid.
That evening Matta said Bulos had had a letter from his mother, who wanted to come and visit him soon. Then Matta changed the subject; it seemed as if he had something he wanted to get off his chest. He’d been surprised, he said, by Bulos’s startled look when he, Matta, happened to mention the name of Farid Mushtak. Bulos had asked twice if he was quite sure that Farid’s surname was Mushtak and he came from Mala. He didn’t say why he was so surprised, said Matta.
When Farid met Bulos himself next day, his manner was strangely cool.
“How’s your mother?” asked Farid. Bulos didn’t reply at once, but gave him a dark look.
“What’s that to you?” he snapped. “You don’t tell me why you’re so thick with Gabriel these days, do you?”
Farid was baffled for a moment. He hadn’t expected this coldness.
“You have it all wrong. Brother Gabriel was only being friendly, as usual.”
But it was like talking to a brick wall.
140. Matta Runs Away
The teachers were very indulgent to the pupils taking the fast-track course to become village priests, but no leniency and patience could do anything for Matta. It was Brother Gabriel’s view that the boy should be sent home as soon as possible. But the monastery administration took no notice, regarding it as a challenge to discipline him instead.
The teachers obeyed, and so Matta’s ordeal began that December. Whenever he made a mistake, however small, he had to kneel down, and if that didn’t work he was made to stand facing the wall for the entire lesson. Matta bore it all with the patience of a camel. The next punishment was more painfuclass="underline" he wasn’t allowed out into the yard for a breath of fresh air during the break between lessons, but had to stay in the classroom writing out meaningless lines. Farid and Bulos forgot the coolness between them for a while as they tried to help Matta. They offered to give him extra coaching, but Abbot Maximus turned the idea down. The trouble with Matta, he said, wasn’t ignorance but a lack of self-discipline.
Farid could see how much his friend was suffering. His laughter had gone, and although he tried hard with his work he just fell further and further behind.
During that icy January Bulos’s mother came to visit him. Wishing to please him and be back on good terms, Farid said he hoped he’d enjoy the visit, and offered him some money so that he could give his mother a present. Bulos just looked straight through him. Farid was worried. He tried to find out from Matta what had made Bulos so hostile, but Matta didn’t know either.
Not until fourteen years later, in a place very far from the monastery, was Farid to discover the answer from Bulos himself.
The next night Matta jumped out of the washroom window into a tree, and then fled into the darkness. When the monk on duty raised the alarm next morning, Abbot Maximus sent for Marcel, Bulos, and Barnaba.
Bulos was pale with rage, and scented treachery. But he couldn’t say much, for Maximus was cool to Farid as well, and was acting the part of detective.
“I know you’re all in league together,” said Maximus sharply. He looked straight at Bulos. “And as for you, you should have told us that our son Matta needed help.”
Bulos lowered his eyes.
“Barnaba, did you know that Matta was planning to run away?” asked the Abbot.
Farid took fright. “No,” he lied.
Marcel was the only member of the trio who had really had no idea, but it was a fact that Matta, in desperation, had asked Bulos and Farid for help. He had to run away or he would choke here, he said. After their offer to the Abbot to give him extra coaching failed, Farid gave Matta a hundred lira, and Bulos told him two addresses in the port of Latakia where he could hide.
When Marcel too denied having known anything about Matta’s flight, the Abbot was beside himself, and said that all three must eat every meal on their knees for a week. It was one of the most humiliating punishments that could be given.
From now on Bulos would speak to neither Farid nor Marcel. He exchanged his place in class with another pupil, and avoided all eye contact with the other two as they knelt. Farid was less bothered by that than by his guilty conscience over Marcel, who had been dragged into this even though he was an innocent party. Kneeling on the icy cold floor didn’t hurt nearly as much as knowing that he and Bulos had obviously planned Matta’s escape so clumsily that Maximus was able to track them down at once as his helpers. Since none of the other monastery pupils showed any sympathy, Farid began to feel that the Syrian Brothers had been infiltrated.
But Bulos wouldn’t hear of any such idea. Gabriel had been spying on them, he said, and told tales to Maximus. Farid couldn’t help thinking that when Bulos said “Gabriel” he was also accusing him.
It was true that the monk was suddenly keeping his distance, and just shook his head whenever Farid’s eyes met his. There was little regret in his glance. He ate and spoke as if he didn’t see three of the monastery students being tormented before his eyes at that very moment. He, the sensitive soul who never punished a pupil, suddenly seemed unmoved. That hurt Farid, and he couldn’t help thinking of Matta’s last words to him. “I’ll miss you so much. That’s the only bad part of running away.”
Farid would have liked to run away too.
On the twenty-first day after his escape, Matta was found in a village not far from the monastery and brought back. Next time he celebrated Mass, Abbot Maximus thanked God for what he called Matta’s return of his own free will. He told the pupils that the prodigal son needed a period of rest and reflection to become his normal self again.
Farid would never have believed the upright Maximus could tell such outrageous lies. Matta was consigned to the House of Job, an out-of-the-way building behind the stables. “It’s a prison for students who sin really badly. It’s hell,” said Bulos. “They’ll send him crazy there. We have to tell him we’ll soon get him out, and then he must go straight to Damascus and hide there.” And Bulos had the perfect plan.
Two days later, when lessons stopped for the midday break, Farid stole into the visitors’ room, which had a door to the car park. He walked through it and with a firm tread went on to the stables, as Bulos had told him to do, as if he had been sent to look at the animals.
Wet snow was drizzling down. There wasn’t a soul in sight. When he reached the stables he quickly went around the corner, and then he was in front of the small door. The key fitted. He slipped into the dark hut and quickly closed the door behind him.
He was in complete darkness. He listened for a while until he heard whimpering from the floor above. Cautiously, he groped his way up the stairs.
Two tiny windows covered with moss and slushy snow gave a faint light that showed the single room on this second floor. Matta was crouching in a corner, chained to the wall.
“Matta,” whispered Farid.
The boy wept when Farid hugged him and kissed his forehead. “They beat me almost to death,” he said.
“But they won’t get you down. You’re from Mala. Who beat you? Who did it?” Farid asked, suddenly furious when he saw his friend’s swollen face. His head was encrusted with dried blood in several places, and his hands and feet were red.
“Brother John,” murmured Matta. Suddenly he looked at Farid, and asked, “You have come to let me out of here, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but you must hang on for a few more days, until we’ve been in touch with the bus driver. He’ll take you with him, and once you’re in Damascus no one can bring you back.”