by Fred DeVecca
Sarah looked at me questioningly, then she said to the sister, “Wow! Are you kidding me? Blind monk? I really gotta hear that story. But I’m torn up. I want to talk about Sister Sabina too. You really don’t know who she is?”
“She’s Sister Sabina. That’s all we need to know.”
“Haven’t the police been here?”
“My goodness, no. Why should the police be here?”
Sarah’s eyes were wide. “Didn’t they come looking for her?”
“Why should they do that?”
“Everybody in the world was looking for her.”
Sister Ofelia cocked her head. I had to conclude she honestly wasn’t aware of Juliana’s identity. “Why were the police looking for her?”
“It wasn’t just the police. It was everybody. We were looking for her.”
“Well, it looks like you’ve found her then, doesn’t it?”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Lavender Street
If she were still a movie star, that would have been Juliana’s cue to stroll in, hit her mark, look ravishing, say her clever, amusing lines.
But she did not, and all was still.
Sarah picked up the thread of the conversation. “You were in the Ninth Ward, you said? When was that?”
“Do you know New Orleans?” asked the sister.
“No,” said Sarah. “I’ve never been here before. But I’ve heard of the Ninth Ward. That’s where Hurricane Katrina wiped everything out, isn’t it?”
“Yes. We were in the Lower Ninth. That’s where the worst destruction was. We had been there for a hundred years, but the place was totally destroyed, wiped away like it had never been there. Even the street it was on ceased to exist. All the properties were wiped off the face of the earth and never rebuilt. It’s just a bleak, brown, empty, dusty field now. Nothing is there.”
She wiped away a tear before going on.
“We didn’t know what would happen to us. The church could have scattered us all over the country. Or even out of the country. We all prayed a lot. We wanted to stay together.
“Then they found this place. It used to be a military academy. Isn’t that ironic? We believe totally in peace and love, and this was once a place where they taught war.”
“I totally get irony. Irony is everywhere,” said Sarah. She was doing all the talking for us, and doing a good job.
“Yes, isn’t it?” said the good sister. “Finding this place was a miracle.”
“Or was it a strange and wonderful thing?” asked Sarah.
Sister Ofelia responded, “What’s the difference?”
“Miracles are rare,” said Sarah. “Strange and wonderful things—they happen all the time.” She added, “My mom taught me that.”
Sister Ofelia thought this over. “I’m sure your mother is a smart woman,” she said. “But no, miracles happen all the time. They happen every day. You finding this place was a miracle. Sister Sabina finding this place was a miracle. Us finding this place was a miracle.”
Sarah said, “Well, when you put it that way, I guess so. Small miracles, big miracles. They’re all miracles. I guess I’ve never seen a big miracle. Not totally sure I’ve ever seen a miracle at all, actually. ”
“Oh, you have, dear. I know you have. We all have.”
“I don’t know. What’s the biggest miracle you’ve ever seen?”
Sister Ofelia smiled and waved her off. “Oh, honey, you can’t measure miracles, or compare them. It’s not a contest.”
I was silent here. So was everyone else, other than a murmur or two. But me, I was particularly quiet and still.
Then Sister Ofelia went on, “But now you’re leading me to that story I referred to earlier. The one you were so curious about. Once, a long time ago, when the Ninth Ward Monastery was for men and women, when there were monks and nuns, a true ecclesiastical miracle occurred. We were going to take it to the Vatican and get it certified. But they make that so hard to do.”
“How so?”
“It’s a complicated and drawn out process. They convene a board. They look at medical records, X-rays, CAT scans. And they vote. They actually vote on miracles. Then they turn it over to another board, and more voting. Just more than we were willing to go through. We didn’t have to vote and we didn’t have to turn it over to a board. We turned it over to God.”
“Isn’t that kind of radical? I thought you had to follow rules.”
Sister Ofelia sat forward in her seat. “We didn’t violate any rules. We just kept silent. We knew what we had.”
Sarah nodded. “I guess that kind of makes sense. But if you didn’t go to Rome with it, what did you do? I mean you had to do something, right?”
“We simply thanked God and went on with our lives. Through the grace of St. Francis, anything can happen.”
“What happened?”
“A blind monk regained his sight. But that was back in a place that no longer exists—in the Ninth Ward, on Lavender Street.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Lilies and Birds
Then she appeared, not quite out of a puff of smoke, and stood there in the doorway. Her dress was the same as Sister Ofelia’s—gray and white gown to the floor, a veil. No wisps of red or black or brown hair sneaking out of the veil. She must have cut her scarlet locks, or tied back her hair.
But that face, those eyes, the body carriage—it was her. It was not the ghosts of her we thought we had seen before, on the streets, on the rocks, in the river. This was really her.
She smiled. If I had thought she was beautiful before, now I saw an ethereal beauty that far surpassed that. It was the change from a lovely woman who radiated defiance to a body and soul in harmony with nature. Our Nutting Girl had grown up. She had become something else. Someone else.
She slowly looked at each of us in turn. When she got to Sarah, Sarah sniffled, gasped, and bowed her head. Then she got up, ran to Julie, and hugged her. It was a mutual hug—both girls clinging and crying, faces moist and warm and red.
“I can’t believe this,” Sarah said between tears.
Julie’s smile got deeper and deeper. “Oh, Sarah,” she finally said. “I’m so sorry.”
When the hug finally broke, Sarah repeated, “Sorry?”
“I’m sorry I put you through all this.”
Sarah was composed now. “Sorry? I’m thrilled! Here you are. I knew you wouldn’t do anything like this without thinking. And now all I am is happy.”
“Oh, Sarah. I never did anything with thinking before. I just flowed along. Literally.”
Sister Ofelia rose to her feet. “I will leave you to yourselves now. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about. Sister Sabina will show you around. Why don’t you take them out to the courtyard? It’s a lovely night out.”
She left. Julie sat in the chair she had vacated. “I’ll show you around. This is an amazing place. But let’s catch up first.”
The question hung there unasked and unanswered. Maybe it did not need to be asked … or answered.
Oh, hell, yes it did.
“Julie,” I said. “What happened?”
“What happened?” she replied.
“You know. Everything. What happened to you that day?”
“What didn’t happen? The whole world happened. The whole universe happened. And heaven, and hell too. And that’s the right word too, Frankie—happened. Because I was just there. And it just happened on its own. I didn’t have to do anything. I was there and it all took me over like a wave. Yes, like a wave. I was there. Then I was gone. Then I was back. I didn’t have to do anything.”
“Like the lilies of the field,” said Sarah. “Right? I don’t know the Bible really, but I know the lilies of the field. ‘They toil not. Neither do they spin.’ They just sit there and God takes care of them.”
“Well, actually, no,” replied Julie. “That’s not what that means at all, is it? That’s not what the lilies of the field are about at all. Is it, Francis?”
It t
ook me a few seconds to respond.
“Well, now you’re getting into serious territory,” I said. “That’s all part of the Sermon on the Mount. That’s where Jesus really started to rock and roll. He stood up on that big hill and gave the speech of his life and then stepped down and started doing miracles right and left—curing a leper, casting out demons, calming winds and the sea, and bringing the dead to life. Dude was on a roll. All action and taking charge. Doesn’t sound like those wimpy lilies of the field at all, does it?”
Julie picked up from here. “Everybody thinks that lily stuff is all about being passive and just sitting around. That’s not it at all.”
Then she stopped talking.
“So,” Sarah said. “Are you going to enlighten us or not?”
“I hate to ‘enlighten’ anybody. I can’t do that. I’m not enlightened. But I can tell you what I think.”
“So, what do you think?”
“What I think is that it’s not literal. It’s symbolic and it’s all metaphor.”
“Whoa,” I said. “Watch out where you’re going. This is getting into dangerous territory.”
“I’ve always been a dangerous girl.” Then she continued, “It’s all about being who you are, finding perfection, finding what’s right and then staying there. It’s a parable and it is not about being lazy. It’s about being active rather than reactive. It’s more mystical action than physical action. But it’s action. Praying is action. Meditation is action. These things are not passive. It’s about going where you belong and belonging where you go. It’s adaptation—adaptation simply, easily, naturally and freely.”
“Now you’re sounding like Frankie,” Sarah said. “It’s almost scary.”
“It’s not scary. It’s all real. The Bible may be allegory. But God is real. Am I right, Frankie?”
Again, I couldn’t answer right away. Julie looked at me quizzically.
“Frankie?” she asked.
After a few beats, I said, “That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it? Is there a God?”
Julie said, “Yeah, I know. Big question. Big questions all over the place. I guess you just gotta make up your mind and then run with it. That’s what I did.” She held out her arms to encompass her surroundings. “I learned to pray here. I never prayed before.”
“Yes, you did,” I said. “I’ve seen you dance.”
She laughed. “Yeah. You told me before that was prayer and you were right. Awareness of the presence of God. That’s totally what it is. I still dance here, by the way. You sang here. I dance. Same difference. God’s all over the place.
“So, yeah. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I saw when I was sick, Frankie. I saw God. I saw God, a spirit, a force—who makes lilies and birds and people and plants and beasts and fruits and nuts, who loves them, who protects them.”
I looked at this sweet young woman and I remembered the young man I once was and what I once believed.
“You can’t prove any of that, Julie,” I said. “You can’t prove there’s a God. That’s the problem. Show me some proof. Can you prove God exists?”
“Proof, Frankie?” she answered. “Can you prove love exists?”
I was kind of stuck now. “No,” is what I finally said.
“No,” she replied. “No, you can’t. Neither can I. But we know it, don’t we?” This did not require an answer, so I did not give one. She continued, “That’s because God is love. And love is God. And I can’t prove any of it. But I know it and so do you.
“And that’s about all I know.”
I once knew that too.
We were all quiet for a long time.
Then I said, “Okay, I get it. But there’s a lot I don’t get. Why are you here? What happened? What’s going to happen next? How are things going to end up? This has been such a long strange trip, and I don’t think it’s over. And I don’t know how it got here.”
Julie breathed in and smiled. “We’ll walk and talk. That’s where the truth comes out. Don’t worry, Francis. All will be well.”
Chapter Sixty
Lots of Things
We walked and talked in the courtyard, lit by the moon and stars and some lights drifting out from inside. It was way hotter out there than inside.
Outside the monastery door, only a few feet in front of us, was another structure, this one rectangular and sturdy, built from cinderblocks with moss climbing up the sides and painted a dull red. Julie had to use much of her strength to open the thick brick door.
“Can you tell what this is?” she asked us as we headed in.
No one responded.
She pointed out stone and cement boxes lining most of the walls. The place was bigger than it looked from the outside. It went on and on, backwards into space. It felt like it was as long as a football field.
“These are all the nuns and monks who have died here,” she said. “People aren’t buried underground here. They moved each one of these from the Ninth Ward after Katrina. They got scattered all over but they eventually found each one. None of them broke open. These things are built to survive anything.”
I looked them over as we walked down the aisles, half expecting to see my name on one of them. There were all kinds of Brother This-es and Sister Thats and dates, but I was not amongst them.
I had died once but not here. Apparently there were still remnants of my existence here. But no, my miracle here was of another flavor.
We walked around the crypt and looked at each tomb. It was damp and cool and we didn’t really want to leave, but there were other feelings here too—of death and of things rotting—so we did leave and Julie led us back out into the heat.
The courtyard was immense, filled with patches of both flower and vegetable gardens, fruit trees, shrubs, stone paths, fountains, and statues. It was a delightful place to stroll around and a fine place to walk and talk.
Julie looked me in the eye and got right to the point.
“It was a lovely scene, Frankie. I was happy. I was sitting on that iron railing with the river roaring under me. My best friend was sitting next to me and we were shooting a film I was excited about and you guys were dancing beautifully and it was a perfect day.
“And then, and then something clicked inside. I was happy doing what I was doing. I really was. But there was more, wasn’t there? I knew there was something more and I knew I could find it. I was young, and I was smart, and I had all the money in the world, and I could do whatever I wanted. I wasn’t quite sure what that was or how I would go about doing it, but I knew I was going to do it.
“Then the way I was going to do it just happened. Frack reached his hand out toward me. He got just a little too close. Just a little. He brushed me. Just barely. He touched me.
“But he’s one strong dude and that’s all it took. And the next thing I knew, I was in the river. It was cold and it just pushed me around. It pushed me along, but I was floating in it too. I was weightless. I was helpless. I couldn’t do anything except just go where it took me. I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel anything. I just was.
“I was adapting, Frankie. I was adapting to where I had been pulled. That’s why I was smiling.
“I guess I went over the dam. I don’t remember that. I really don’t remember any of it. And I floated down that river a long way. ‘Floated’ is not the right word though. God, it was like sliding down the worst waterslide ever, one with bumps and rocks and dirt, and it went on and on and on.
“Then I stopped. Just like that. I was in a quiet pool. The waters stopped rushing. Everything stopped rushing. Everything stopped, and there I was. I was floating there. And I started to thaw out and I started to wake up and I realized I was not dead. I was still alive, Frankie. I was alive.
“I didn’t know where I was, but there I was.
“And there was a little ripple in that pool and it slowly and gently moved me to the shore. I touched the shore. It was soft and green and moist.
“And I lay there to
uching it for a few seconds. My eyes were open this whole time and I saw a lot. I saw all kinds of stuff. Like when I was sick. Remember that, Frankie? I told you I saw stuff I needed to talk to you about? Well, there it all was again. Right there on that shore. All around me too. In that pool. In that river. Everywhere, actually.
“I pulled myself onto the bank. I was still alive. I didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. I should have had broken bones, I guess. I should have been badly hurt. Hell, I should have been dead. But I wasn’t. I didn’t feel great. I felt dazed and groggy and I shook my head and tried to clear my mind and figure out what had happened. I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t know how much time had gone by. I didn’t know where I was. And I didn’t know what was going to happen or where I was going to go.
“So I didn’t do anything and I didn’t go anywhere. I just sat there on that bank and watched the river. And I watched it flow and flow. And then I guess I fell asleep.
“When I woke up, it was dark. And then, almost instantly, it got light. It was morning. The sun was all red in the sky and there were some clouds and it brightened up and glowed.
“And I sat there for a while. And I thought about things. Lots of things. I thought about where I should go and what I should do.
“And Frankie, I had no fucking idea. I had no idea what to do or where to go.
“So I got up and I started walking. I had dried off but I was still dressed in that costume. With the purple skirt and the orange shirt and the leggings and the red Cons and the whole thing. But it wasn’t really much of a costume, was it? I might have worn something like that anyway. Hell, I could wear anything back then.”
She looked down at her gray gown and smiled.
“And I walked, Frankie. I walked on and on and on. It was woods for a while and then it was back roads. I mean it was way back roads and almost nobody drove by.
“Then I started to get hungry. I wasn’t tired. I was just moving and moving and I never thought about being tired and I wasn’t tired. But I got hungry. I started to think about where I could get food. So I walked some more.