Scattered Bones by Maggie Siggins Page B

rummages through a pile of small utensils until he finds a toothbrush. He picks the skull up again and begins brushing the yellow teeth which dangle in the hole that was once a mouth.
    “There, you beauty!” he sings. “Now you’re ready for your travels. Mr. Ratt here would like to give you a big, fat, farewell kiss.” Both men break out in wild laughter.
    Ernst has no idea what to make of the scene he’s just witnessed, nor does he have a clue what to do about it. Should he say something? Suddenly, Arthur turns his head and from the corner of his eye spots the clergyman. He picks up what looks like an ancient spear and raises it above his head. Ernst thinks ‘By God, he’s going to throw it. An insect impaled!’ Spinning around, he darts out the door and makes for the path. Half walking, half running, he propels himself as quickly as his legs will take him. Finally, he plops down on a tree trunk, trying hard to control his panting. He is so ashamed that he hadn’t had the courage to confront Jan and Ratt that tears are welling up. For the umpteenth time, he wonders why a man with so little confidence would be called to service by The Maker. Well, he had no say in the matter, did he? He remembers so clearly the day he learned of his fate.
    ~•~

    He was fifteen, and had been taken on one of the rare visits to his father’s law firm. Wentworth, Dilly, Cruickshank & Smith occupied an entire floor of the ornate Wentworth Building on King Street. The intense clacking of typewriters and the ant-like industry of his father’s employees, mostly men who glanced up not a second longer than it took them to chirp, ‘Morning, Mr. Wentworth,’ always made Ernst uneasy. As usual he was instructed to pay his respects to the senior partner. Mr. Dilly, with his protruding belly, bald head, thin lips and many, many warts all over his face and head and, Ernst imagined, probably in other obscene places hidden by his clothing, so much resembled Bufo Woodhousei fowleri – Fowler’s toad – that the boy could hardly keep the necessary straight face.
    “What a handsome fellow you’ve turned out to be, Master Wentworth,” cried Mr. Dilly. “So what does the future hold for you? Following brother Will’s footsteps into law – can always use another bright light in this office – or brother James into the military?”
    Wentworth Senior cut in before his son got a chance to answer. “Neither of these, I’m afraid. We think Ernst would be more success-ful in a less taxing profession. The Anglican priesthood will suit him just fine.”
    This was news to Ernst. At first he was indignant that his future had been decided without his opinion being asked even once, but, as he thought about it, not having to endure either the torture of working for his father or death on a foreign battlefield had its appeal.
    He was pretty sure that he possessed the correct qualities for a religious calling. He loved the Anglican services; indeed he felt more at home in St. James Cathedral than his own living room. He made a point of assisting anyone he thought was in need, whether, as his father joked, they wanted him to or not. And he was good at the chitchat that the bazaars, tea parties, evening socials – the heart of church life – entailed. Jumble sales were his favourite. Yes, studying for the Anglican priesthood was probably a fine idea.
    Ernst enjoyed his four years at Trinity College. The study of Hebrew, Greek and Latin was not so much a chore as a pleasure, and he found his biblical studies stimulating – he received some distinction for a paper entitled “Wisdom in the Book of Job.” His professors were often eccentric, but not vicious. And his social life was very agreeable; for the first time he was surrounded by like-minded companions and, to his amazement, he discovered that the opposite sex was attracted to him. One young woman took to calling him “Vicky” because, she said, he had the same wavy hair, plump cheeks and sweet