City, Sister, Silver, page 58
I knew where to go. As fast as possible. When I woke the next morning, there was frost everywhere. Don’t they even get fall here, the one season I was fond of, even if autumn stuff did occasionally throw me off pretty good … I needed to warm up, slipped into my duds. Took the rifle and tossed it in one of those gurgling holes. Then headed out. Made it through the Dump in a couple hours. By now I knew the way.
On the street people turned and stared, bundled up in that quilted jacket, plus the skier’s thing on top … I made quite an impression. And then I realized, I must stink pretty bad. Compared to how I’d dragged at the Dump, I was moving fast now. I had a reason, too. And maybe I was too late.
The sign was still there, though rusted now. And the balcony was covered with wire mesh. I rang the buzzer and almost instantly a head appeared behind the netting. I recognized him, guess he couldn’t say the same for me.
Open up. It’s cold as hell.
You the messenger?
Huh? I’m Potok.
Huh? The head disappeared.
A moment later the door opened, photoelectric cell I guess. I slammed it shut behind me. The old entranceway was gone. In front of me was a TV screen with me on it. Then the next door opened and I stepped into … a cage. Ugh, you gotta be kiddin … they came walkin up, two. I didn’t know em, either that or they’d grown a lot … where’s Montague? I asked. One of em pinched his nose with his fingers and offered me his hand, they walked behind me … what kina act’re you guys puttin on here, Montague … but then I clammed up. He’d turned out pretty hefty. Oh yeah … you’re … ex-boss Uncle Potok. Didn’t recognize you at first. What up, Uncle? … barely got the word through his lips, he was big now … Stein an the boxes? … an the resta my uncles? … they’re all somewhere, Montague, but look, it’s urgent, I gotta talk to your dad … your sisters turn up? … yeah, he said, and from the way he said it I could tell something had happened … where are they? … in with Dad, been a week now, said Montague, eyes glued to me … Father’s in there with em an that’s what’s got us worried, yeah, said one of the young men behind me … Dad’s like, sick, said we’re not allowed to come near him … I think I know what it is, Montague, I gotta get in there … my name’s Gyros, said one of the two, you don’t remember me, I was little, what happened to you, Mr. Potok … I realized it was the first time any person apart from waiters and cab drivers had actually called me mister … it stunned me … apparently I’d gotten rather old and cracked … can I wash up? But first lemme see your father … Maybe, just maybe, said Montague thoughtfully, you might wanna take a bath first. No time, your dad can take it … Montague gave in and led me … downstairs, metal doors all the way, and as he unlocked them, one by one, he told me the story: Some a my bros left, but there’s still plenty, thought you were one a the Vondráčeks, they’re how come we’re barricaded in here like this … they insist they also got a restitutional claim … to the lab, Vondráčeks at first, nother old Prague famiglia … we got a feud … he stopped at one of the doors. Dad doesn’t wanna see me, he said weirdly … any of us, but give it a shot … wait’ll I leave, gotta lock you in, Dad’s orders … then slam it hard … wait, Montague, are the girls in there? Took em in soon as they turned up … kay I’m goin, he walked slowly, peeking back at me over his shoulder.
I waited till he shut the door, then pounded. Now I couldn’t turn back. I stood in a dark hallway between two metal doors. Just a chilly little light blinking over the last one. Looks like a bunker … I shuddered and pounded again.
Doctor! It’s me, Potok! He came to see me … little Kučera … from the well. If it’s just you in there, girls, open up, I don’t care anymore … Doctor …
The door opened, I don’t know how, he was sitting in an armchair in the corner. Vats, scalpels, flasks everywhere, water bubbling …
I see you. He said.
Now I knew why Montague had left so quickly. This wasn’t the voice of old Doctor Hradil, the clever Mohawk beast … this was the Beast itself talking … he stood up, I gazed into the flat gloss of his silvery eyes.
I reached for my throat.
He tore the cord with the scalpel off his neck and tossed it on the desk in front of me.
I know everything, the voice croaked. It’s a good thing you came. An don’t be afraid. I’m not like them yet … but I will be. It’s getting closer.
What about your girls?
He pointed to one of the vats.
Of course I could tell right away, I’m their father … I finished them off. They would’ve killed my other children.
That grating voice … broke. Or seemed to. He sat down.
I donno what force brings you here, old Potok, by the way you look ghastly, like some scarecrow or somethin, but you’re just in time. I tried … I know that one of my sons has to do it. I tried, but I can’t bring myself to tell them. I had em lock me in here so I couldn’t, you know … but I can already tell, another door or two, he waved his hand. Take this upstairs, he patted the silver scalpel … an one of em has to come, tonight. Tell him what he has to do. I know about Kučera, they’re … they were linked. The boys’ll get over it, you can explain. An you donno how sweet those daughters of mine were. Nobody knows. Now they never will. Marie and Anna were their names. They were … lovely, they were sweet girls. I donno why it happened.
I took the scalpel and carefully stuck it in my pocket.
Wait, said the Doctor. Look at this.
On the table sat a vat. Inside it a transparent liquid. The surface quivering. I could see through the smooth glass sides. The smell drifted over to me. It smelled good and I felt a great hunger. I wanted to touch the vat, clutch it tight. I knew this was what I wanted. I stood at the table. Doctor Hradil’s hand flashed through the air and the glass shattered against the wall.
Yep. That’s it, he said. I finally did it. You’re probly the only person who’s ever seen the Elixir. In today’s era.
Elixir? But …
This is the genuine stuff. But it’s made of … that. They’re in it. You wanted it bad, huh?
It was strong.
Again I inhaled the aroma. As it faded into the walls’ dampness.
Now go tell them.
Aright, M.D., I understand. I’ll tell em how to do it. An I’ve got a great sorrow inside me. For everything. Bye. I’m goin.
Tell them … to sort it out with the Vondráčeks somehow, put an end to it. It’s what I want.
If that’s what you tell em, they’ll do it.
Maybe. An one more thing … which one’s it gonna be?
Montague.
Montague! My favorite … why does it have to be him …
He’s the only one I know. An Doctor, surely you know the old Jewish joke. Why me?
Why not. Said the Doctor. But you’ve got it mixed up, that’s from the old Doctor’s Heap of Anecdotes … it’s the patient that asks … hah, well, same difference.
I guess so. Later then.
Yeah. Later.
I wasn’t in any hurry. First I told Montague okay, a bath. Climbed into the tub and instantly fell asleep. He shook my shoulder, the water was cold. What time is it? There was still time … Montague brought me some of his older brothers’ clothes … we torched that getup a yours … I felt a little jolt inside me … yeah, no big deal, I said … there were some papers too, my sisses read em … And? I was all ears … Well, Montague blushed, some of em said good an all … an some, he turned away … What? What’d they say?! Well, they were laughin. He handed me the pages, but I was in the tub, the poems got soggy, tossed em on the floor … Montague passed me the clothes … Here ya go, jeans, black … zip or buttons? Rivets, said Montague … Some dress shirt, green silk … World War II parachute, Montague alerted me … I nodded … the only T-shirt he had was one with Batman on it, whatever … tall leather boots … those’re my oldest bro’s, David’s … huh, who … David, you know, the one that stayed with the Mohawks … aha … want a cap, it’s yellow … not a chance! … here’s a dark green one … give it here! Next an excellent coat and a belt around my waist. All dressed up. And after what I’d been through at the Dump, deep down in my soul I began to consider myself a new man. You look a little like the old Potok, said Montague.
Then I gave him the scalpel. Told him. What he had to do. Left him alone.
It occurred to me in the kitchen that it wouldn’t be bad to stay a spell … if only for the sake of my tongue, on my last two stops I’d lost the habit of speaking normally … and some of my expressions weren’t at all appropriate around the girls … I felt for Montague, but maybe because of what I’d just been through … I was at peace inside, like fatalism or somethin … the daughters leaned over the fire, roasting a lamb … I felt a stab in my heart, Černá, where are you, I couldn’t stand the way one of the girls moved as she arched her back, carrying a pot, I got up … Montague escorted me out through the corridors, it’d floored him when he first heard, but now he was calm … he’d been through more than enough for his age, and knew the things of the box, he’d been able to answer the ancient question on his own … he locked the door behind me.
Again I was leaving somewhere … but not clearing out hastily, fleeing madly, slinking off in a fever … walking, with the city in front of me. Even fingered … my clothing a little, I was walking without Madonna, and I hissed through my teeth, I’m goin to see Černá, I’m comin to see you, my sweet … because if you’re dead, then I’ll make it through my time here without you somehow … dreaming of a woman … and we’ll meet afterwards, in eternity. It’s the only way. Walking, neither avoiding people, nor feeling the need to crash into them, walking … and then I saw the stone.
It spoke to me. Not that I heard anything, no talking stone. None a that mysticism. It just captivated me. A cornerstone, the kind they used to give buildings so the carriage wheels wouldn’t bang up the plaster. That stone was somewhere in my memory, something was going on … and then I glanced up, I was on that street. The street above the German Embassy, I was back at the beginning, from here it stretched uphill … it was after a rain, the air was cool … I saw roofs and house signs, there was the lion, I’d aimed here without even knowing it … I felt my hands and throat and breath again … and raised those hands … to clasp them … and then something hit me on the back, like wing-stirred air, I fell, and flew a while, and for an instant felt my skull, the bones, the walls of the depths, the bony walls of my world, and I fell on the stone headfirst. It hurt, and then it went dark.
I was coming to … I heard ringing … maybe the bells again, crowding into my mind … and then I opened my eyes and saw a woman’s face. It was beautiful, I wanted to speak but couldn’t move my tongue, I couldn’t move … honey, I dredged out … and then focused, no, it wasn’t Černá. It was a gentle face, viewing me from up close with concern, a girl with some kind of veil or hood over her head … the room was dim, I could feel her touching my hand, and it was bliss … she was close, I noticed that she didn’t have even a smidgen of makeup on …
Thank God you’re recovering, she said. And walked out.
It was a nun.
I was in a small room, whitewashed, over my head hung a crucifix. The sheet was stretched tight, and the blanket, no, a down comforter, it had been years … smelled good, I caught a whiff of old lavender, none of that new stuff made outta monkey guts … I couldn’t move though.
I didn’t wake again till the middle of the night, and there on the wall … where before there’d been nothing, I spotted another face … a woman’s, also in a hood, a veil, her eyes were smiling … on her face she had a scar though, some saint, I thought, and felt … guilty, maybe I’m in some convent, it occurred to me as I looked at her … because, I admit, that face was sexy … turned me on, but in a friendly way, not like one of those wrestling matches with stuff sprayin right an left … I studied the face, she was an ambitious woman, I think, there was something burning inside her, she was strong. And then I closed my eyes, and suddenly I hear … little brother, hey … get up outta that fuckin … deathbed … it was her, that raspy voice … I hear you unmistakably, Černá, that means you’re alive, no Saint ever talked like that, do you think about me, Černá … at least sometimes … and I waited, tense and ready, but I couldn’t move … and nothing else happened and I fell asleep.
Yeah, Bog knows I’m recovering, I thought … Sister Maria Coseta came to see me every day. At first I was a nervous wreck, I knew whose bride she was … but she knew how to talk to me. She was younger than me. Yes, definitely there’s a lot more people younger than me around. Than at the beginning of my story. I’m aware of that. That’s the way it goes in ordinary time.
As time passed … it struck me that she enjoyed coming to see me, and I said so. She told me the story of her order … the Silent Sisters of the Divine Child. Its members swore an oath of silence.
That’s why I like visiting you so much, said Sister Maria. To chat. And you’ve been so many places. How’s the head?
Doesn’t hurt at all now. I’ve only traveled around Bohemia, but maybe that’s not what you mean. Anyway, you never told me how I wound up here. This is total salvation for me.
You mustn’t speak of salvation that way. They found you on the street, not far from here.
But I mean you can’t go puttin up every stiff … pardon me, Sister, every needy person … you find.
You know why we took you in? Perhaps I shouldn’t, but … she took a step toward me … undo your pajama top, yes, there … she touched me with her finger, and all I wanted was for that hand to stay there, she must’ve been able to tell … she quick drew back her finger … we eyed each other … how long’ve you been in the order?
Over a year now.
Sometimes I could sense in her … not exactly the street or the bar … but we had something in common. I didn’t like that idea at all. My … friend was alive, she knew how to move. I think she knew how to be pretty fast. That chamber of mine was full of her. And the life she gave off, it was like even her skin was breathing … it was probably the best medicine I could’ve had. I told her she was rescuing me with every move she made. She laughed. But one day she said: That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re all here.
Since I couldn’t read yet, she would read to me. Her voice was bright and clear. Sometimes when she was speaking, formally and properly, an ending would drop off. Sometimes she would swallow conjunctions. Every now and then she would laugh from her throat, a laugh that didn’t seem to go with the silent corridors around me. Sometimes it was like she was telling me old things beneath the words. Her eyes gave off flashes and mist.
If a nun, God forbid, put on makeup, she’d look the same as a waitress, I theorized pointlessly. And the other way around. Sister Maria was the only one I saw, maybe that’s why I was so preoccupied with her. I tried to lower my chin to my chest so I could see the spot where she’d touched me, gently, like silk … and then I saw it and threw up on my pillow. I looked again and again, until my neck was sore. There was the Madonna. My Black Madonna, tiny as the medallion, in all her beauty, in the pain of her scar. She who weeps eternal. It didn’t look like a tattoo … you’d think a tattoo would embarrass a nun, but Sister Maria told me she liked the dragon very much … the Madonna looked like it was seared into my skin, or maybe like an engraving … right above the dragon! … I was very happy to have her there. So they took me in because of that?
We had both gotten into the habit of referring to the order as they, Maria was a novice.
I suppose so. I don’t know too much about it though.
Are there a lot of sick people here?
No. Just a few.
Why did you take down that picture?
Huh?
I told her about the woman’s face, the picture I’d seen my first night. That upset her. She was holding a book she’d brought me, nearly dropped it on the floor.
So you saw her … no kiddin, yeah?
She ran out of the room. About an hour later returned … I tried to sit up straight or whatever … this was the first time I was seeing the other nuns, they had different habits … there were three, just one young one … and she looked strict … the two older ones had an air of kindness … they were ladies … I mean you can tell, whores or ladies, even when they merge, that was the sinful abomination that flashed through my bandaged head, I admit … Maria stood beside me, unpainted eyes not even blinking, apparently it was a serious moment.
They wanna know if you saw her besides the first night.
Yeah. Yes. Can you hear them?
Yes. They already taught me that. They want to know how you feel and whether your head hurts.
Tell them I’ve tried walking already and I feel fine. Just weak is all.
They can hear you. Wait a sec, she turned to them.
They’d like to see what you have on your skin.
You mean the dragon?
She blushed. I undid my pajama top, personally I’ve never owned any. Then I thought of something and froze.
So can they hear what I’m thinkin too? I asked Sister Maria.
One of the older nuns looked at me, smiled, and … shook her head.
Just in case, I said.
They leaned over me and inspected the Madonna. But didn’t touch me.
It seems weird me not seein a doctor, I declared.
They say you don’t need one. Not anymore.
Then they left us alone. Maria had already told me a lot about the order. But apparently she didn’t know that much herself. She said they came from Spain and that a lot of the sisters were South American. The first thing I asked about was the bells.
You see, said Sister Maria Coseta, you’re Catholic, I suppose … weelll, I said, I didn’t even mention that stuff about Bog, not me, I was glad to be there … the sisters feel themselves bound by their mission, so it’s just … the chapel where they assemble, the bell’s in there … uh-huh, I said, attempting to catch a pesky fly … they care for the Divine Child, the Baby Jesus, all through Latin America … the Indians worship it … you’ve no doubt heard of the Carmelites, my little sister lectured me, she’d brought in a chair, not like at the beginning when she’d sat on the edge of my bed … this order split off from them in the seventeenth century, but wasn’t recognized … seventeenth, that’s baroque, right? I inquired craftily, Sister Maria had brought me a book of poems called Rose of Wounds* with some old and beautiful words in it … even read the flaps, out of boredom.
On the street people turned and stared, bundled up in that quilted jacket, plus the skier’s thing on top … I made quite an impression. And then I realized, I must stink pretty bad. Compared to how I’d dragged at the Dump, I was moving fast now. I had a reason, too. And maybe I was too late.
The sign was still there, though rusted now. And the balcony was covered with wire mesh. I rang the buzzer and almost instantly a head appeared behind the netting. I recognized him, guess he couldn’t say the same for me.
Open up. It’s cold as hell.
You the messenger?
Huh? I’m Potok.
Huh? The head disappeared.
A moment later the door opened, photoelectric cell I guess. I slammed it shut behind me. The old entranceway was gone. In front of me was a TV screen with me on it. Then the next door opened and I stepped into … a cage. Ugh, you gotta be kiddin … they came walkin up, two. I didn’t know em, either that or they’d grown a lot … where’s Montague? I asked. One of em pinched his nose with his fingers and offered me his hand, they walked behind me … what kina act’re you guys puttin on here, Montague … but then I clammed up. He’d turned out pretty hefty. Oh yeah … you’re … ex-boss Uncle Potok. Didn’t recognize you at first. What up, Uncle? … barely got the word through his lips, he was big now … Stein an the boxes? … an the resta my uncles? … they’re all somewhere, Montague, but look, it’s urgent, I gotta talk to your dad … your sisters turn up? … yeah, he said, and from the way he said it I could tell something had happened … where are they? … in with Dad, been a week now, said Montague, eyes glued to me … Father’s in there with em an that’s what’s got us worried, yeah, said one of the young men behind me … Dad’s like, sick, said we’re not allowed to come near him … I think I know what it is, Montague, I gotta get in there … my name’s Gyros, said one of the two, you don’t remember me, I was little, what happened to you, Mr. Potok … I realized it was the first time any person apart from waiters and cab drivers had actually called me mister … it stunned me … apparently I’d gotten rather old and cracked … can I wash up? But first lemme see your father … Maybe, just maybe, said Montague thoughtfully, you might wanna take a bath first. No time, your dad can take it … Montague gave in and led me … downstairs, metal doors all the way, and as he unlocked them, one by one, he told me the story: Some a my bros left, but there’s still plenty, thought you were one a the Vondráčeks, they’re how come we’re barricaded in here like this … they insist they also got a restitutional claim … to the lab, Vondráčeks at first, nother old Prague famiglia … we got a feud … he stopped at one of the doors. Dad doesn’t wanna see me, he said weirdly … any of us, but give it a shot … wait’ll I leave, gotta lock you in, Dad’s orders … then slam it hard … wait, Montague, are the girls in there? Took em in soon as they turned up … kay I’m goin, he walked slowly, peeking back at me over his shoulder.
I waited till he shut the door, then pounded. Now I couldn’t turn back. I stood in a dark hallway between two metal doors. Just a chilly little light blinking over the last one. Looks like a bunker … I shuddered and pounded again.
Doctor! It’s me, Potok! He came to see me … little Kučera … from the well. If it’s just you in there, girls, open up, I don’t care anymore … Doctor …
The door opened, I don’t know how, he was sitting in an armchair in the corner. Vats, scalpels, flasks everywhere, water bubbling …
I see you. He said.
Now I knew why Montague had left so quickly. This wasn’t the voice of old Doctor Hradil, the clever Mohawk beast … this was the Beast itself talking … he stood up, I gazed into the flat gloss of his silvery eyes.
I reached for my throat.
He tore the cord with the scalpel off his neck and tossed it on the desk in front of me.
I know everything, the voice croaked. It’s a good thing you came. An don’t be afraid. I’m not like them yet … but I will be. It’s getting closer.
What about your girls?
He pointed to one of the vats.
Of course I could tell right away, I’m their father … I finished them off. They would’ve killed my other children.
That grating voice … broke. Or seemed to. He sat down.
I donno what force brings you here, old Potok, by the way you look ghastly, like some scarecrow or somethin, but you’re just in time. I tried … I know that one of my sons has to do it. I tried, but I can’t bring myself to tell them. I had em lock me in here so I couldn’t, you know … but I can already tell, another door or two, he waved his hand. Take this upstairs, he patted the silver scalpel … an one of em has to come, tonight. Tell him what he has to do. I know about Kučera, they’re … they were linked. The boys’ll get over it, you can explain. An you donno how sweet those daughters of mine were. Nobody knows. Now they never will. Marie and Anna were their names. They were … lovely, they were sweet girls. I donno why it happened.
I took the scalpel and carefully stuck it in my pocket.
Wait, said the Doctor. Look at this.
On the table sat a vat. Inside it a transparent liquid. The surface quivering. I could see through the smooth glass sides. The smell drifted over to me. It smelled good and I felt a great hunger. I wanted to touch the vat, clutch it tight. I knew this was what I wanted. I stood at the table. Doctor Hradil’s hand flashed through the air and the glass shattered against the wall.
Yep. That’s it, he said. I finally did it. You’re probly the only person who’s ever seen the Elixir. In today’s era.
Elixir? But …
This is the genuine stuff. But it’s made of … that. They’re in it. You wanted it bad, huh?
It was strong.
Again I inhaled the aroma. As it faded into the walls’ dampness.
Now go tell them.
Aright, M.D., I understand. I’ll tell em how to do it. An I’ve got a great sorrow inside me. For everything. Bye. I’m goin.
Tell them … to sort it out with the Vondráčeks somehow, put an end to it. It’s what I want.
If that’s what you tell em, they’ll do it.
Maybe. An one more thing … which one’s it gonna be?
Montague.
Montague! My favorite … why does it have to be him …
He’s the only one I know. An Doctor, surely you know the old Jewish joke. Why me?
Why not. Said the Doctor. But you’ve got it mixed up, that’s from the old Doctor’s Heap of Anecdotes … it’s the patient that asks … hah, well, same difference.
I guess so. Later then.
Yeah. Later.
I wasn’t in any hurry. First I told Montague okay, a bath. Climbed into the tub and instantly fell asleep. He shook my shoulder, the water was cold. What time is it? There was still time … Montague brought me some of his older brothers’ clothes … we torched that getup a yours … I felt a little jolt inside me … yeah, no big deal, I said … there were some papers too, my sisses read em … And? I was all ears … Well, Montague blushed, some of em said good an all … an some, he turned away … What? What’d they say?! Well, they were laughin. He handed me the pages, but I was in the tub, the poems got soggy, tossed em on the floor … Montague passed me the clothes … Here ya go, jeans, black … zip or buttons? Rivets, said Montague … Some dress shirt, green silk … World War II parachute, Montague alerted me … I nodded … the only T-shirt he had was one with Batman on it, whatever … tall leather boots … those’re my oldest bro’s, David’s … huh, who … David, you know, the one that stayed with the Mohawks … aha … want a cap, it’s yellow … not a chance! … here’s a dark green one … give it here! Next an excellent coat and a belt around my waist. All dressed up. And after what I’d been through at the Dump, deep down in my soul I began to consider myself a new man. You look a little like the old Potok, said Montague.
Then I gave him the scalpel. Told him. What he had to do. Left him alone.
It occurred to me in the kitchen that it wouldn’t be bad to stay a spell … if only for the sake of my tongue, on my last two stops I’d lost the habit of speaking normally … and some of my expressions weren’t at all appropriate around the girls … I felt for Montague, but maybe because of what I’d just been through … I was at peace inside, like fatalism or somethin … the daughters leaned over the fire, roasting a lamb … I felt a stab in my heart, Černá, where are you, I couldn’t stand the way one of the girls moved as she arched her back, carrying a pot, I got up … Montague escorted me out through the corridors, it’d floored him when he first heard, but now he was calm … he’d been through more than enough for his age, and knew the things of the box, he’d been able to answer the ancient question on his own … he locked the door behind me.
Again I was leaving somewhere … but not clearing out hastily, fleeing madly, slinking off in a fever … walking, with the city in front of me. Even fingered … my clothing a little, I was walking without Madonna, and I hissed through my teeth, I’m goin to see Černá, I’m comin to see you, my sweet … because if you’re dead, then I’ll make it through my time here without you somehow … dreaming of a woman … and we’ll meet afterwards, in eternity. It’s the only way. Walking, neither avoiding people, nor feeling the need to crash into them, walking … and then I saw the stone.
It spoke to me. Not that I heard anything, no talking stone. None a that mysticism. It just captivated me. A cornerstone, the kind they used to give buildings so the carriage wheels wouldn’t bang up the plaster. That stone was somewhere in my memory, something was going on … and then I glanced up, I was on that street. The street above the German Embassy, I was back at the beginning, from here it stretched uphill … it was after a rain, the air was cool … I saw roofs and house signs, there was the lion, I’d aimed here without even knowing it … I felt my hands and throat and breath again … and raised those hands … to clasp them … and then something hit me on the back, like wing-stirred air, I fell, and flew a while, and for an instant felt my skull, the bones, the walls of the depths, the bony walls of my world, and I fell on the stone headfirst. It hurt, and then it went dark.
I was coming to … I heard ringing … maybe the bells again, crowding into my mind … and then I opened my eyes and saw a woman’s face. It was beautiful, I wanted to speak but couldn’t move my tongue, I couldn’t move … honey, I dredged out … and then focused, no, it wasn’t Černá. It was a gentle face, viewing me from up close with concern, a girl with some kind of veil or hood over her head … the room was dim, I could feel her touching my hand, and it was bliss … she was close, I noticed that she didn’t have even a smidgen of makeup on …
Thank God you’re recovering, she said. And walked out.
It was a nun.
I was in a small room, whitewashed, over my head hung a crucifix. The sheet was stretched tight, and the blanket, no, a down comforter, it had been years … smelled good, I caught a whiff of old lavender, none of that new stuff made outta monkey guts … I couldn’t move though.
I didn’t wake again till the middle of the night, and there on the wall … where before there’d been nothing, I spotted another face … a woman’s, also in a hood, a veil, her eyes were smiling … on her face she had a scar though, some saint, I thought, and felt … guilty, maybe I’m in some convent, it occurred to me as I looked at her … because, I admit, that face was sexy … turned me on, but in a friendly way, not like one of those wrestling matches with stuff sprayin right an left … I studied the face, she was an ambitious woman, I think, there was something burning inside her, she was strong. And then I closed my eyes, and suddenly I hear … little brother, hey … get up outta that fuckin … deathbed … it was her, that raspy voice … I hear you unmistakably, Černá, that means you’re alive, no Saint ever talked like that, do you think about me, Černá … at least sometimes … and I waited, tense and ready, but I couldn’t move … and nothing else happened and I fell asleep.
Yeah, Bog knows I’m recovering, I thought … Sister Maria Coseta came to see me every day. At first I was a nervous wreck, I knew whose bride she was … but she knew how to talk to me. She was younger than me. Yes, definitely there’s a lot more people younger than me around. Than at the beginning of my story. I’m aware of that. That’s the way it goes in ordinary time.
As time passed … it struck me that she enjoyed coming to see me, and I said so. She told me the story of her order … the Silent Sisters of the Divine Child. Its members swore an oath of silence.
That’s why I like visiting you so much, said Sister Maria. To chat. And you’ve been so many places. How’s the head?
Doesn’t hurt at all now. I’ve only traveled around Bohemia, but maybe that’s not what you mean. Anyway, you never told me how I wound up here. This is total salvation for me.
You mustn’t speak of salvation that way. They found you on the street, not far from here.
But I mean you can’t go puttin up every stiff … pardon me, Sister, every needy person … you find.
You know why we took you in? Perhaps I shouldn’t, but … she took a step toward me … undo your pajama top, yes, there … she touched me with her finger, and all I wanted was for that hand to stay there, she must’ve been able to tell … she quick drew back her finger … we eyed each other … how long’ve you been in the order?
Over a year now.
Sometimes I could sense in her … not exactly the street or the bar … but we had something in common. I didn’t like that idea at all. My … friend was alive, she knew how to move. I think she knew how to be pretty fast. That chamber of mine was full of her. And the life she gave off, it was like even her skin was breathing … it was probably the best medicine I could’ve had. I told her she was rescuing me with every move she made. She laughed. But one day she said: That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re all here.
Since I couldn’t read yet, she would read to me. Her voice was bright and clear. Sometimes when she was speaking, formally and properly, an ending would drop off. Sometimes she would swallow conjunctions. Every now and then she would laugh from her throat, a laugh that didn’t seem to go with the silent corridors around me. Sometimes it was like she was telling me old things beneath the words. Her eyes gave off flashes and mist.
If a nun, God forbid, put on makeup, she’d look the same as a waitress, I theorized pointlessly. And the other way around. Sister Maria was the only one I saw, maybe that’s why I was so preoccupied with her. I tried to lower my chin to my chest so I could see the spot where she’d touched me, gently, like silk … and then I saw it and threw up on my pillow. I looked again and again, until my neck was sore. There was the Madonna. My Black Madonna, tiny as the medallion, in all her beauty, in the pain of her scar. She who weeps eternal. It didn’t look like a tattoo … you’d think a tattoo would embarrass a nun, but Sister Maria told me she liked the dragon very much … the Madonna looked like it was seared into my skin, or maybe like an engraving … right above the dragon! … I was very happy to have her there. So they took me in because of that?
We had both gotten into the habit of referring to the order as they, Maria was a novice.
I suppose so. I don’t know too much about it though.
Are there a lot of sick people here?
No. Just a few.
Why did you take down that picture?
Huh?
I told her about the woman’s face, the picture I’d seen my first night. That upset her. She was holding a book she’d brought me, nearly dropped it on the floor.
So you saw her … no kiddin, yeah?
She ran out of the room. About an hour later returned … I tried to sit up straight or whatever … this was the first time I was seeing the other nuns, they had different habits … there were three, just one young one … and she looked strict … the two older ones had an air of kindness … they were ladies … I mean you can tell, whores or ladies, even when they merge, that was the sinful abomination that flashed through my bandaged head, I admit … Maria stood beside me, unpainted eyes not even blinking, apparently it was a serious moment.
They wanna know if you saw her besides the first night.
Yeah. Yes. Can you hear them?
Yes. They already taught me that. They want to know how you feel and whether your head hurts.
Tell them I’ve tried walking already and I feel fine. Just weak is all.
They can hear you. Wait a sec, she turned to them.
They’d like to see what you have on your skin.
You mean the dragon?
She blushed. I undid my pajama top, personally I’ve never owned any. Then I thought of something and froze.
So can they hear what I’m thinkin too? I asked Sister Maria.
One of the older nuns looked at me, smiled, and … shook her head.
Just in case, I said.
They leaned over me and inspected the Madonna. But didn’t touch me.
It seems weird me not seein a doctor, I declared.
They say you don’t need one. Not anymore.
Then they left us alone. Maria had already told me a lot about the order. But apparently she didn’t know that much herself. She said they came from Spain and that a lot of the sisters were South American. The first thing I asked about was the bells.
You see, said Sister Maria Coseta, you’re Catholic, I suppose … weelll, I said, I didn’t even mention that stuff about Bog, not me, I was glad to be there … the sisters feel themselves bound by their mission, so it’s just … the chapel where they assemble, the bell’s in there … uh-huh, I said, attempting to catch a pesky fly … they care for the Divine Child, the Baby Jesus, all through Latin America … the Indians worship it … you’ve no doubt heard of the Carmelites, my little sister lectured me, she’d brought in a chair, not like at the beginning when she’d sat on the edge of my bed … this order split off from them in the seventeenth century, but wasn’t recognized … seventeenth, that’s baroque, right? I inquired craftily, Sister Maria had brought me a book of poems called Rose of Wounds* with some old and beautiful words in it … even read the flaps, out of boredom.
