Bergeron was moved, deeply moved to hear of the young nun’s condition. He tried not to show it, but he was moved none-the-less. Mother Phillip took note of it. Not that she could make anything of it yet, but she did docket it away as was her custom. Bergeron poured himself a glass of wine, and she took note of that as well. “Who is the man,” Bergeron asked? “Did she say?” “No. No matter how much I...questioned her, she wouldn’t tell me.” Bergeron drank deeply and poured himself another. “Well,” he said, “of course something will have to be done. She can’t remain here as if …” “Father, I ask you to let me handle this in my own way.” “What do you intend to do?” Blast these meddlesome priests! These were women’s matters, didn’t he know that? Mother Phillip walked quickly toward the door. “It is not necessary for you to know. You are, after all, a man, and…” “And you are of an age that is long past blushes. I know what you’re talking about, I’m not naïve, and I cannot permit it.” “Then don’t permit it,” she said, turning on him. “Forget it.” “I will not! Tell me what you intend to do. If you’re thinking of taking the child before…” “No.” Mother Phillip of San Jean Batiste gathered her wits and spoke slowly, hoping to impress upon him that she knew what she was doing. Quite against her intention, she spoke to him as to a child. “The problem is more common, especially among novices away from their father’s houses for the first time, than most laymen, even most churchmen believe or are willing to allow. Indeed, if I had not known that Constance would surely confess it, I would have never told you. She can remain in her cell until her time comes. I will minister to her myself.“ “And then?” “Do not press me. If you would not know the answer, do not ask the question.” “On your vows, tell me the truth.” “Unfortunately,” she said, “the child will be born dead, and will be quickly and quietly buried.” “You would kill it? “It will be born dead.” She was prevaricating, of course; it would be born dead, but sooner than was usual. “Father, it is the best possible solution. She has no family outside of the convent...no money. She came here a desperate little girl. Perhaps this life doesn’t suit her, but it’s the only life she has, the only life she knows. If there is a child … Where will we say it came from? Did some gypsy pass by the convent in the night and leave it on our doorstep? This is a small village, Father. It has already been noticed that she strays from the convent. There will be talk. It’s one thing to give a wink and nod to one of the farm girls, quite another … She couldn’t take that.” She paused, hoping for some response. There was none. His face had turned to stone. She straightened her back and said, almost like a challenge, “I have promised to protect her.” Bergeron looked at her long and hard. “You are talking about a human soul.” “It can be baptized, if you wish. I can’t turn her out, to shame and humiliation on the outside that would rob her any future anywhere else but a convent. Here, at least, she is secure … and loved.” She could see she was getting nowhere with him; perhaps, if she tilted on his field. “Besides, how many Templars were killed in Paris, Father? “They were convicted sorcerers. You are talking about an innocent child.” “Innocence has nothing to do with it. None are innocent, not one of us. We come screaming from the womb stinking of sin, your blessed Augustine says so. “You know what I mean.” “Besides, we have never blanched at sacrificing innocents for a greater good. Look in the Bible! How many innocent children did Joshua murder at God’s command?” “That was war.” “How many innocent babies were burned alive at Sodom and Gomorrah by God’s own hand?’ “That was the Old Testament. We have new covenant…” “Do we? Do we indeed? You wouldn’t know it by what we do in the name of God. Explain to me the innocent Muslim children killed in the Crusades, or the innocent Jewish children burned in front of Notre Dame not half a century ago.” She slammed her hand on the table and leaned toward him, eyes blazing. “Do not speak to me of innocence.” “And do not presume to speak to me of doctrinal matters; you forget yourself.” “We are talking about a bastard child conceived of an illicit union with a bride of Christ!” Mother Phillip sometimes astonished even herself. Almost unconsciously, she had happened upon an argument that would, she thought, affect him. “She won’t reveal who the father is; why, for all we know, she might have been seduced by Asmodeus himself, or any of his demi-devils. Even if that were not so,” and she didn’t believe for a moment it was, “there is enough doubt of its paternity that... In a world made by men, what kind of a life would it have? The child is better off dead.” “The subject is closed, Reverend Mother.” He saw the light flare in her eyes, but, dutiful child of the Church, she dropped the subject, submitting, at least publicly, to his authority, at least for now. “Then we shall leave it in God’s hands,” she said, “and trust that He will do what is needed.” “As long as it is indeed the Will of God and not …” “I wouldn’t presume to speak for God, Father; I wear the wrong robes.” He felt the jibe, but didn’t think it worthy of his response. He accepted her word, although he could not in any way entirely trust it. The truth be told, he had no choice and wondered why he felt relieved in that? “Good. Now, take me to Sister Constance.” She folded her hands across her abdomen as monks do when affecting humility. It was a gesture that could have been either acquiescence or defiance. She turned and walked up the two steps to the street. Father Bergeron, she noted, was as righteous a man as ever drew breath. God’s plague upon all such righteous men! He was so blinded by moralism he could not see what was moral. How she wished she had told him nothing! But, he was a priest, and after decades of obedience she could have done no other. Even if she’d wanted to, she had been so conditioned that resistance was her second, not her first impulse. Besides, she knew after eight years of dealing with him that it was best not to cross him directly. There were ways around him and she knew them all, or at least enough to serve. Bergeron drained his glass and followed her. At the gate, the word was passed that a man was entering the convent, allowing the sisters to bestow themselves accordingly. The bolt was thrown and the gate was opened. No nuns were to be seen as Bergeron followed Mother Phillip across the courtyard and into the infirmary, but there was a barely detectable hint of nervous laughter as he passed the shuttered windows.
Posted on: Thu, 27 Mar 2014 17:49:25 +0000
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