Diary of a Sociopathic Vicar – Part 11

Imagine, if you will, that you are having Sunday dinner, and the Rural Dean – the Bishop’s right-hand man – is the guest of honour. If he were to ask you what you thought of the service he has just taken, how would you respond?

Regardless of how dire the service may have been, there are required responses. For example, “It was a beautiful service,” or perhaps, “The sermon really spoke to me.” Generally, these are lies, but they are socially acceptable lies.

To say, “I thought you were rubbish” – expletives deleted – is not the most typical response. I am prepared to admit that it was in anticipation of such an occurrence that I had invited three of the local chapter of Hells Angels to dinner with the Rural Dean.

“What… what do you mean?” asked Torbut, the Rural Dean.

Porker leant forward to elaborate on Psycho’s response. “He means that everything you said was garbage.”

“Well, I never…”

Abigail continued eating, although I could see a faint smile ghosting her mouth. Mabel dabbed her lips with a napkin to hide a giggle, and blushed.

“Thing is,” said Al, the more thoughtful of the three,
“When David does a service, he talks to us like equals. You just look down on us.”

“Yeah,” said Psycho, “And not just us, we’re used to it. You’re looking down on everyone.”

“David takes us as we are. He doesn’t expect anything fancy from us. He knows we’re not perfect”, added Al, “And you know what? He doesn’t care. And he says stuff that makes sense.”

I wasn’t expecting this kind of endorsement, but it was nice to hear. Especially as both Abigail and Mabel were nodding. Who says that a sociopath can’t be a convincing speaker?

While Torbut flapped his mouth uselessly, Psycho indicated to the pile of roast potatoes on his plate and said, “Here, Porker, you’re going to have to help me with these”.

“Ok,” said Porker, put Psycho in a neck-lock and started forcing the roast potatoes into his mouth. After that, Torbut barely said say a word for the rest of the meal, but Al, Porker and Psycho more than made up for it. What I saw was three big kids playing without boundaries. Granted, three big kids who rode massively over-powered bikes, who were free with their fists, who occasionally dabbled in petty crime, but still, three big kids. They were Peter Pans in the real, somewhat grubby world.

As they grew more boisterous, Torbut grew quieter and more withdrawn. I suspected he was less liberal in his views than me.

Finally, Porker demonstrated that it was possible to consume an entire bottle of wine with his hands behind his back. Torbut took that as his cue to leave.

“Well, David, I must, er, thank you for your hospitality, but sadly, I must be going.”

This was a bonus to me. I had thought that it would be at least another hour before I could get rid of him. I escorted to the door, and handed him his coat, vestments bag and briefcase.

Torbut muttered quietly to me as he put his coat on, “Although the food was good, I have my doubts over the choice of guests.”

“You mean Al, Porker and Psycho? As they’ve only recently started attending church, I thought it would be good to include them. I’m sure you would agree that we should welcome all to the church?”

“Within limits, within limits. Those three are no more than thugs.”

“No. You’re wrong. No limits. The church is open to anyone.”
Torbut muttered something I couldn’t quite catch, and left.

I returned to the dining room, to find a rather jolly atmosphere. Abigail had taken some plates through to the kitchen, and I fancied I heard the back door. The remaining four were laughing their heads off – I was surprised how much Mabel had unwound with the Hells Angels. It was a side of her that I hadn’t seen before.

“That Torbut, what an idiot!” said Psycho. Well, he didn’t use the word “idiot”, but we all have imaginations.

“Yeah, did you see his face when I did the wine bottle?” asked Porker.

“It was no more than he deserved,” said Mabel. “I think if he had a choice, people would have to fill in an application form before coming to church.”

We chatted about Torbut’s shortcomings for a little while, then Abigail came in with coffee. About an hour later, the three big kids left.

“I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing for them,” said Mabel, smiling.

“I’m not doing anything remarkable. I’m just treating them the same as I’d treat anyone else.”

“Yes. I think that’s what they like.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. By definition, I’m not really a people person. As far as I’m concerned, I treat everyone the same, because I see them all the same.

Mabel gave me a quick peck on the cheek and left.

I looked in on Abigail in the kitchen, to thank her for the meal.

“By the way, Abigail, what was it you took from Torbut’s briefcase?”

“A book. He’s one of them, you know. One of those ‘Sons of Jesus Lemurian’.”

“Ah, I see. Well, let me know if there’s anything interesting in it.”

I suppose I should have expressed disapproval over this petty theft, but it wouldn’t have made any difference, so I let it go. In any case, information is always useful.

The next day, I spent the first half of the morning doing the usual parish phone calls and the second half listening to the insurance company’s hold music. When the door bell rang, I was grateful for the interruption, which shows how wrong you can be. I opened the door to the police inspector.

“Good morning Dennis,” we were on first name terms by now, “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering what you know about Torbut Smythe.”

“The Rural Dean? Why, he was here yesterday. Is anything the matter?” I asked with a sinking feeling.

“You could say that. He’s been found dead. In your church. With his trousers round his ankles.”

Disclaimer: Although, in principle, the Church should be open to anyone, it is possible to question the judgement of Rev. David Wilson regarding who “anyone” refers to.