by Damian Serbu
“I don’t think it’s preposterous,” Thomas said softly. “Your moral standards astound me. And I don’t say that to flatter you. I believe it. I asked because I care about you.”
Xavier wanted to get away from the Bastille’s wicked eye so he headed north, toward his parish. “I’m sorry.”
Thomas smiled. “There you go, apologizing. Doesn’t Catherine support you?”
“Yes, of course, but she relates it to her independence. Mine isn’t about myself. I feel an obligation to humanity. I see innocence in almost everyone and I want to help.” They reached Xavier’s church and leaned against a small fence. “When I work within these walls, I touch people. For a moment, for a day, or for however long, I ease the pain and monotony of their lives.”
“So you fully accept Catholic theology?”
Xavier thought about that for a long moment before responding. “Is this just between us?”
“I would never betray you,” Thomas answered and grabbed Xavier’s hand.
“I don’t believe all of it. I’m not sure how to put it into words. I think that some higher being exists, which we can’t understand. I find it impossible to believe that all of this happened by accident or haphazardly. Mankind seeks to answer this question, and, for many, those answers come through the church.” He stared at their clasped hands, wanting both to run away but also to stay. “I serve in the church because I was raised in it. It’s how I come into contact with the spiritual world. It also allows me to help people. Really, this sounds silly.”
“Not at all.” Thomas squeezed his hand and let go. “It makes sense, especially knowing you. It’s not what I believe, but I love your passion. The first day that we met, I saw you help that little girl find her mother. You never hesitated or got angry. You just acted. That’s a profound love that few feel for their fellow humans. I wish that I shared such zeal.”
“You make me a saint prematurely.” Xavier managed a wan smile. “I get angry with the world and fail to live by my own standards. Why, I almost never succeed with my brother.”
Thomas moved them to a bench and sat opposite him. Xavier barely controlled his urge to sink into the shelter of Thomas’s powerful arms.
“What about your brother? I thought you cared deeply for him.”
“Oh, I do, I do. I cherish my brother and sister. Remember what I told you about Catherine, about how Michel has taken his responsibility to lead this family too far?”
Thomas nodded.
“He does the same to me. It enrages Michel that I refuse to accept a higher position in the church. He claims that it degrades the Saint-Laurent name, and he’d feel better if I were protected. He sees religion differently, as more of a duty, another cog in the government. He fights with me about this almost every time that he visits. I try to listen and to accept that he feels as he does and let it go, but too often I let the anger build and then yell at him.”
“I hope my bluntness doesn’t offend you,” Thomas said. “But your biggest weakness is that you’re too hard on yourself. You expect perfection in how you serve your parish and in how you handle the family, even in how you speak with me. But you’re fallible and no one should expect perfection of you.”
Thomas spoke the truth, yet Xavier thought of all the people who did expect that of him. The Catholic Church elevated priests to a false pedestal, and Michel and Catherine doted over him constantly. His eyes filled with tears.
Thomas patted Xavier on the shoulder. Without a word, he moved closer and hugged him tightly, and whispered into his ear. “I understand, abbé, I understand.” They sat like this for a long moment before Xavier sat up, collected himself, and smiled.
“Thank you. I hope I can repay you some day. I’m sorry.”
“You apologized again,” Thomas teased. “And you do help me, every time I see you. Perhaps someday I’ll explain.”
Xavier struggled to stay awake and allow this moment to continue, but the evening had worn him out. His head bobbed once, and then he heard Thomas laugh softly.
“Are you exhausted?”
“I am tired, but it has nothing to do with you. I get up early to read and then work through the early afternoon in my parish so I can visit Catherine in the evenings.”
“Should I let you rest tomorrow?”
“No, please, come back.”
Thomas stood and accompanied Xavier toward the church. He held the door open for Xavier, who walked in and turned around.
“Good night,” Xavier said with a smile.
“Abbé.” Thomas smiled in return as he turned to leave and tilted his head. He paused at the gate, looked back and waved, then disappeared into the night.
Xavier watched him leave and he hated that his stomach ached when Thomas did so.
He had fought these longings his entire life and scolded himself constantly for them. Many of his colleagues ignored their vows of celibacy, and more than a few “friendships” had developed in seminary. Even bishops knew about these arrangements and entered into them. Yet Xavier could not bring himself to defy the church so openly. For every accepting curé or official, another might expose his blasphemy and ruin his chosen path.
The irony did not escape him. One group defied the law that they forced others to follow, another group used the church as a weapon to wield against enemies. Xavier disagreed with both. But that was nothing new. He always disagreed with Catholic hierarchy and tradition. Despite his reasoned outlook on other matters, however, Xavier could not turn that sharp intellect onto himself.
He wanted to be with Thomas more than anything, but did Thomas really seek that? Anguish. Bitter, aching, anguish engulfed Xavier. Why did he struggle with these feelings for Thomas? He groaned inwardly. Because they were personal. This was not about others or sacrificing for the good of mankind. This was all about Xavier and a secret passion, something he had often dreamt about—of lying with another man and feeling his strength overpower him with its protection. He longed to run his hand over tight muscles and feel coarse whiskers against his cheek. It was easy to fantasize in the dark. But could he ever realize this fantasy, or would it always be a mirage?
Xavier: Marcel Andre
26 May 1789 Morning
XAVIER LOOKED TWICE from his rectory window to see who approached. He squinted against the sun and confirmed that Catherine walked up the path. He closed his Bible and raced down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, worried.
“Relax, dear brother. Are you running from Satan?” she teased.
“What brings you to my church?”
“Nothing horrible. Can’t I visit? I do need you but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Come with me—you are free, aren’t you? I have exciting news.”
“Where are we going?”
Catherine pulled him into the muddy streets. “I’ll explain on our way.”
“This isn’t about converting our home into a salon, is it?”
“No,” Catherine answered. “Not yet. It’s something different.”
Xavier pulled back and waited. What was she doing?
Catherine whipped around with a frown. “I need you, now more than ever. Come on.” She tugged at his arm but he refused to budge. “All right, I’ll tell you everything if you’ll at least walk.” She yanked at him until he followed slowly.
“I need a man,” she announced. “I know, it sounds dreadful, and when did I ever need some man to assist me? Not that I include you in that category, but damnable decorum requires some man to accompany me. Not just any man, actually. But I’ll tell you. I need someone from the family. I know Michel thinks he has the right to perform these functions but his attitude bothers me. So I came to you instead.” She glanced at him as they walked. “I realize you’re not the eldest, but you’re a priest, for heaven’s sake, and what more will society require? Michel will recover soon enough. Let’s see...” Catherine looked around before continuing down another road. “Oh, look, all these people. How exciting that most of them want to throw
Louis into the Seine. Where was I? Oh, you, of course. I need your sanction.”
He stared at her, perplexed. “What on earth do you mean?”
“All right.” Catherine threw her arms up. “I need you to approve my marriage.”
“What? Are you mad? To whom?”
“To the most delightful man I’ve ever met. We’re going to meet him now.”
“Two days ago you flew into a rage at the thought of some man controlling your life, and now, suddenly, you pull me through Paris to some man I never met with the intention of having me sanction a marriage? I have no power in this matter. Have you lost your mind?”
Catherine stomped her foot and stopped in the middle of the road, a cart barely missing her. “If I wanted Michel’s attitude I would have sought him. Go. Go back to your damned church and leave me alone, then.”
Xavier took a deep breath. “Can’t I discuss things with you without the threat of your damning accusations?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please come and meet him and we can talk about this afterward. Please?”
Xavier motioned her ahead and followed without answering as she charged through the mud. They arrived outside the shop of a merchant who advertised imports. The items in the window were expensive— many of them from Asia or the Americas. Catherine opened the door and entered with Xavier in tow. The place was packed with goods of every variety. Yet, despite the pleasant appearance, Xavier noticed a damp, moldy smell. He had a strange sense as he stood scanning the packed room of exotic displays. Catherine walked behind the counter and into the back without saying a word while Xavier waited in the entrance, strangely afraid though he didn’t understand why.
She returned grinning in a few seconds. “He’ll be out in a minute. Do you want to know anything else?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Don’t be negative until I finish. You won’t believe it. I found the man of my dreams and I want you to meet him. This is the man I’ll marry. We’re already engaged, and I need you to approve. More than anything, I need to know that you’ll allow me to make this decision without Michel lording over me. He’s simply divine, and you’ll see it, too. He’s everything I could ever want. He even makes me tea! Imagine, no servants yet he makes the tea without expecting me to do it because I’m a woman.”
Xavier desperately wanted to believe her, but she sounded like a lunatic. He had never heard her dote over someone other than himself. What was this really about?
“He’s the most handsome man—”
“You embarrass me in front of your brother,” said a baritone voice with a slight edge in it.
Xavier was startled to see an older gentleman, probably in his late fifties, behind the counter. He kept his head slightly down, so that he looked at Xavier as if he were looking over the top of a pair of glasses. An odd little chill settled in Xavier’s stomach.
“How could I embarrass you? Xavier, I want you to meet my fiancé, Marcel André.”
The man bowed his head even further. “Abbé, I’ve heard all about you.”
Xavier mustered his courage. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, though he didn’t mean it. Catherine had surely gone mad.
“Xavier, Marcel owns this business. He imports things from all over the world. We met because I had to do business with him. Well, actually, I needed some furniture and came by his shop one day. I bought two chairs and before you knew it we were doing business. Then he proposed to me and I agreed!”
Catherine prattled on while Xavier almost fainted. She was insane and taking her defiance too far, clearly doing this to attack Michel. A bell rang in the back, thankfully, and stopped her as Marcel curtly excused himself.
Xavier stared at her, stunned. “Are you really marrying him?”
“Don’t talk to me that way.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“I told you everything. I chose Marcel. He’s charming, and he owns all of this. I’m sure that he makes twice as much money as our family. The merged empires will be extraordinary.”
Xavier breathed deeply and put his arm around her. “Catherine, what’s going on?”
She glanced at the floor and smiled sheepishly as her eyes welled with tears. “I told you the truth. I find him enchanting. I like how he treats me. And I intend to marry him.”
“But?”
“But, well, you know. I don’t really love him. Not yet, anyway.”
She’s losing her mind, he thought. “Listen to me, please. This isn’t the time to make a case for your independence. I know you want to spite Michel, but you can’t ruin the rest of your life to make a point. You don’t have to marry anyone.”
“I know, but I want to give this a try.”
“A ’try’? You can’t just end the marriage if you decide you don’t love this man. Once you do this, you involve the church and government.”
Catherine took Xavier’s face in her hands. She gazed with a soft smile, the tears already dried and her eyes dancing with excitement. “You’re my most treasured possession. I don’t expect you to understand. Much of it escapes me, but I must do this, whether you or Michel approve. It will be much easier if you assist me. I won’t lie, I’ll defy even you if you challenge me.”
Xavier’s stomach ached. She meant every word. This was another battle for her independence in which she would never yield to patriarchal authority.
“You have just met him?”
“Yes. He instantly enthralled me. I can’t explain the passion. True, I don’t love him. But I feel an intense passion, a longing for him. Have I embarrassed you? It’s true that he attracts me in a way I can’t explain. And if I must marry, why not go to someone who can affect me that way?”
“Catherine, could you come here, please?” Marcel called from the back.
She took leave but Xavier quietly followed her to the doorway. He hid in the shadows and saw both of them in a small room full of bottles, dead animals, and other strange artifacts. This room frightened Xavier more than the front. He hated spying, but felt he had no choice. How else was he to learn the truth? What he saw alarmed him beyond measure. Marcel, glancing about nervously, handed Catherine a glass of some strange blue liquid and asked her to drink. She did, and whatever liquid it was affected her somehow, because she almost fell back when finished. She steadied herself and then reached up and kissed Marcel on the cheek.
“Abbé, come in,” Marcel said. Xavier walked slowly in. Catherine was clearly drugged. Marcel glared at the curé, but Xavier ignored him, taking stock of more odd things. A dried bat, the feet of chickens, herbs, powder, and skulls. Was that a human skull in the corner? The room chilled Xavier unlike anything he had ever experienced. In seminary, he learned about evil places that repelled religiously devout people and had brushed it aside as an old Catholic superstition, but for the first time he wondered about its truth. His friend, Anne, talked about her religion from the New World and how some people adopted it for bad purposes. He would have to ask her if these things of Marcel’s fit that category.
Catherine finally looked around and noticed Xavier. “Brother,” she acknowledged.
“I see you like my room,” Marcel said to Xavier.
“Intriguing.”
“I suppose that it shocks you, a representative of the Church. It’s voodoo. I learned it in the New World. Nothing to worry about, just a little magic to protect those I love and help my business.”
Voodoo. That’s what Anne had called her religion.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Catherine asked. “Marcel doesn’t believe in that old Catholic theology. Don’t worry, dear, Xavier doesn’t adhere to it either!” She giggled and giggled.
“Catherine, will you wait for us outside?” Marcel asked.
“Certainly.”
Marcel’s comportment changed instantly when she left. Xavier walked backward and clutched his cross. He said a silent prayer as the two men glared at each other.
“Stay out of this. This is no place for a prie
st. Your sister chose her path. I only help her along. Don’t mind that little drink I gave her. She likes it.”
Xavier stood, powerless to do anything.
“Father,” Marcel said mockingly. “May I make a confession? I offered her a small potion that gives her the power to love. You see, she told me about how much tradition constrains her. I took that to mean that she wanted whatever help possible. So I give her that drink, you see, to free her mind. Just a Haitian remedy I learned on some of my travels.”
Xavier bumped into the wall. His whole body shook as he turned and ran from the room. Dear God, what to do? Once again his vows had trapped him. Marcel did it intentionally. He asked for a confession because it bound Xavier to silence. But why did these rules bind him? Colleagues reneged on them all the time, yet Xavier clung to some notion that an order existed in the universe. If he promised God something, he had to practice it or lose all faith in the system. But this was his sister! Xavier sweated profusely as he reached the street. Catherine, who stood with her typical confidence, looked at him with surprise, the glassy gaze entirely gone.
“Xavier, what on earth?”
“I have to go.”
Catherine muttered a protest but Xavier ran down the street without her. His heart pounded. Nothing had scared him more in his entire life. Evil. He had encountered pure evil. And it wanted to marry his sister. It trapped him in a corner and forced him to keep a secret. Catherine’s fierce independence led to the ultimate irony. She had fallen under the spell of a sinister and manipulative man. Xavier shook with fear as sweat ran down his forehead. He tore off his collar and raced to the church where he collapsed on his bed. His two worlds, family and church, collided with a violent force. He buried his head in a pillow and wept.
Xavier: Jérémie Pain