Maugham: Church Clerk

Church Clerk

Text/Maugham

There was a baptism in St. Peter's Church in the afternoon, so Obert Edwa was still wearing his ceremonial robe. He always wore his new robes only for funerals or weddings (fashionable people always chose St. Peter's Church for these ceremonies), so now he wears them only slightly inferior. Wearing this robe, he felt proud, because it was a sign of the dignity of his position. This son was not easy to come by. He always had to fold and iron the robe by himself. Having been a clerk in this church for sixteen years, there have been many such robes, but he never threw away the old robes he wore, and all the robes were neatly wrapped in kraft paper and stored in a drawer under the bedroom wardrobe.

The priest was now waiting in the small auditorium for the priest to finish his ceremony so he could tidy up the place and go home.

"What else is he grinding there?" The priest said to himself. "Doesn't he know I should go back for a cup of tea too?"

The pastor had recently been appointed, in his forties, full of red light, and an energetic man. And Obert Edwa still regretted that the previous pastor, that is, an old-school priest, never made a fuss, unlike the current one, who had to get involved in everything.

Soon he saw the priest come over.

"Verman, can you come to the chapel for a while, I have something to tell you."

"All right, sir."

They walked together along the church, and the priest led Obert Edwa into the chapel. Obert Edwa was a little surprised to see that there were two other church deacons here, and he didn't see them coming in. They nodded kindly to him.

"Good afternoon, my lord. Good afternoon, Sir. One by one, he greeted them.

Both were elders, and they had been church deacons almost as long as Obert Edwa as ministers. They were now sitting at the delicate table that the original priest had brought from Italy many years earlier, and the priest sat on the chair vacated between them. Obert faced them, the table between him and them, wondering with some discomfort what was going on. He remembered the trouble caused by the organist, and it took a lot of effort to calm things down. Scandals are not allowed in places like St. Peter's Church. The priest's face was a mixture of harmony, while the other two showed a slight fluster.

"He wants them to do something, but they don't want to." The clerk said to himself. "Yes, you can remember my words."

But Obert didn't put his thoughts on his face. He stood with a gesture of humility and dignity. He had been a servant before he was a minister, but in a very decent family. He began by working as a follower in a wealthy merchant, rising to the position of housekeeper in the home of a widowed noblewoman, and when the position of clerk of St. Peter's Church became vacant, he was already the head of the house of a retired ambassador, with two men under him. He was tall, thin, calm and self-respecting. It seems that he is not a duke, but at least he is an actor in the old-school drama class who plays the duke. He was old, determined, and confident.

The priest spoke brightly.

"Forman, there are some things we really don't want to talk to you about. You have been here for so many years and have satisfactorily fulfilled your responsibilities. ”

The two deacons nodded.

"But one day I learned something extraordinary, and I felt obligated to inform our deacon about it. I was amazed to find that you could neither read nor write. ”

The priest's face did not show any look of embarrassment.

"The pastor knows this, Sir." He replied. "He said it didn't matter, he often said that with his taste, sometimes the world was too educated."

"This is the most astonishing thing I have ever heard in my life," cried the deacons. "You mean that you've been the minister of this church for sixteen years, but you never read or write?"

"Your Excellency, I have been an errand boy since I was twelve. The chef in the beginning tried to teach me, but I didn't seem to know anything about it. I never had time again, and I never really thought about learning. ”

"But you don't want to know about the outside world?" Another deacon said. "You've never written a letter?"

"No, sir, it seems to be very good without these." Now there are pictures in the newspapers, so I know everything. If I want to write a letter, I can ask my wife to write it for me. ”

The two deacons glanced helplessly at the priest, then looked down at the table.

"Well, Furman, I've discussed this with two gentlemen, and they, like me, think it's unbelievable. There cannot be a priest in a church like St. Peter who can neither read nor write. ”

Obert Edwa's thin, pale face flushed, and he stomped his feet uncomfortably, but did not answer.

"But, Furman, can't you go and learn?" One of the deacons asked.

"No, sir. Now, I'm afraid I can't. You see I'm no longer young, and since I couldn't stuff these words into my head as a child, I don't think I'd have had that chance to do this. ”

"Verman, it's not that we're going to be harsh on you," said the priest, "but I've made up my mind with the deacons." We'll give you three months, and if you can't read or write, I'm afraid you'll have to leave. ”

Obert never liked the priest, and at the outset he said that it was a mistake for them to hand over St. Peter to him. He knew his worth, and now he felt a little relaxed.

"I feel very sorry, Sir, I am afraid to say that it does me nothing good. I'm an old dog who can't learn new tricks anymore. I can't read or write, and I've lived well for years, and even if I could learn, I wouldn't say I wanted to learn. ”

"So, Furman, I have to say you have to leave."

"Well, sir, I understand that as soon as I find someone who can replace me, I will be happy to hand over my resignation."

But when Obert Edwa, with his usual courtesy, closed the doors of the church after the priests and deacons had left, he could no longer maintain that dignified atmosphere, and his lips trembled. He returned to the small hall and hung the priest's robe on the anvil. Remembering so many funerals and wedding scenes he had seen here, he sighed. He tidied everything up, put on his jacket, hat in his hand, and walked out of the church. He locked the door of the church behind him and strolled through the square, and in deep sorrow he did not go the way home, where there was a strong and good tea waiting for him, but he turned in the wrong direction. He walked very slowly. His heart was very heavy. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to think about the idea of being a servant of others again. Having been autonomous for so many years, he can no longer serve people. He had saved up a sum of money, but not enough to sit for the rest of his life, and the cost of living was increasing every year. He never imagined that he would encounter such trouble. The priest of St. Peter's Church, like the Pope of Rome, is his whole life. Obert doesn't smoke or drink alcohol, but he is slightly accommodating, that is, he can drink a beer at dinner and smoke a cigarette when he feels tired. At this moment, he felt that if he had a cigarette, it might give him a little comfort. Since he never brought a cigarette, he looked around to see where to buy a box. He didn't see the shop selling cigarettes, so he went down. It's a long road with a variety of shops, but there's no shop where you can buy cigarettes.

"It's a little weird," said Obert Edwar.

To be sure, he walked down the street again. No, there really is no doubt. He stopped to observe, turning over and thinking.

"I wouldn't be the only one walking down this street and thinking of smoking," he said. "If any guy opens a small shop here, I mean, tobacco, candy and the like, it's going to make money."

He was shocked by this.

"That's the thought," he said, "and it's strange that things come this way when you least think about it." ”

He turned, walked home, and drank his tea.

"Obert, why did you keep silent this afternoon?" His wife said.

"I'm thinking." He said.

He thought about it for a while, and the next day he went down the street and was lucky enough to find a shop for rent. Twenty-four hours later, he took the shop down, and a month later a shop selling cigarettes and newspapers opened. His wife called it his worst loss since he became the director of St. Peter's Church, but he replied that people had to change with the times, and that the church was no longer what it used to be.

Obert did a good job. He did a good job, because after a year or so, he suddenly opened his mind, and he wondered why he didn't open a second store and find someone to manage it. So he went looking for a long street where there were no cigarette shops, and sure enough, he found such a street, and there were shops that could be rented, and he took it down again. This time he succeeded again. So, since you can open two, you can open five or six. He began to travel all over London, and whenever he found a long street with no cigarette shops but shops for rent, he took it down. In this way, in ten years, he opened no less than ten stores in a row and made a lot of money. Every Monday, he himself went to the shops and collected all the money he had received during the week and deposited it in the bank.

One morning, as he was handing over a zaza banknote and a large pocket of silver coins to the bank, a bank cashier told him that their manager wanted to see him. He was introduced to an office and the manager shook his hand.

"Mr. Furman, I would like to talk to you about the money you have deposited in our bank. Do you know how many of them there are? ”

"Although it is not accurate to one pound and two pounds, it is still about eight or nine times ten, your excellency."

"Except for what you saved this morning, it's slightly over thirty thousand pounds." This is a large sum of money deposited, it is best to use it to invest. ”

"I don't want to take any risks, sir. I know, it's safe to put it in the bank. ”

"You don't have to worry about it, we'll convert you into an infallible security." This would be much higher than the interest paid by the bank. ”

Doubt appeared on Mr. Furman's rich face. "I've never been exposed to stocks and dividends, I just want to keep that money in your hands."

The manager laughed. "We'll do it for you. All you have to do is sign the subpoena in the future. ”

"I could have done that," said Obert without hesitation. "But how do I know what I signed?"

"I suppose you should always read it," the manager said in a joking tone.

Mr. Furman gave him a smile that relieved his doubts.

"Oh, sir, that's exactly what happened. I know it sounds funny, but I really can't read or write, I just sign my name, and that's what I learned after I started a business. ”

The manager was taken aback and jumped out of his chair.

"It's the most unusual thing I've ever heard in my life." The manager stared at him dumbfounded, as if he were a prehistoric monster.

"Are you saying that you built such an important business and made thirty thousand pounds of wealth, but you couldn't read or write?" Oh my God, my good man, if you were to be able to read and write, what would you be like now? ”

"I can tell you, Sir," said Mr. Furman, and a smile rose on his still noble face. "Then I will still be the director of St. Peter's Church in Neville Square."