Alice Asks the Big Questions

by Laurent Gounelle

  The elevator stopped at his floor, and the doors creaked open.

  The man got out, turned around, and added, “Because I know that deep down, you’re a good person.”

  The neighbor never looked down on him again.

  29

  Sitting at the table in the garden in the shade of the old walnut tree, a plate of hot madeleine cakes and a steaming teapot in front of her, Alice was engrossed in her Bible.

  “Come and have some madeleines,” she called out to Théo.

  Hard to compete with the swings.

  “Otherwise I’ll eat them all and gain four pounds,” she added, more quietly.

  She tore the shredded Civil Code cover off the Bible.

  She was excited about what she had just understood. Jesus gave an essential path to liberate oneself from the ego, which she had never realized until then. She already had in mind the theme of Jeremy’s next sermon.

  She heard the sound of footsteps and turned around.

  “Hi! I was just thinking about you!” she said as he came over to her. “I have a suggestion for next Sunday’s Mass. Have a seat.”

  He sat down, and she offered him the plate of madeleines, which he declined.

  He waved in a friendly way to Théo and looked all around him at the garden, as if he wanted to savor the sight of it. He finally looked back at her and smiled, a smile full of kindness and…something she thought was a hint of sadness.

  “Is something wrong, Jeremy?”

  He continued smiling with kindness, but she could sense that he was trying to prolong the moment of lightheartedness, which worried her even more. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and controlled.

  “That will be my last Mass in Cluny.”

  “What? But…why?”

  “I’m being sent to Yaoundé.”

  Alice looked at him, incredulous, before truly taking in the meaning of his words.

  She was speechless.

  It was as if everything were suddenly falling to pieces. Everything they had done, everything they had set in motion, all the efforts to attract parishioners, everything that had benefited so many people.

  She immediately felt overcome with sadness, disappointment, disgust.

  “Why? Why are they doing it?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “But…do they have the right to ship you off to Cameroon just like that, with no warning?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and nodded. He was powerless. “The bishop reminded me that the apostles were always on the move.”

  “And everything we’ve accomplished here?”

  “A new priest will be appointed.”

  “Who will undo everything.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  She was crushed.

  “The idea that they’re going to put back those silly little songs and all the rest makes me so depressed. They’re going to send everyone running.”

  “We can’t know that, Alice.”

  She shook her head in disgust. “When exactly are you leaving?”

  “Thursday morning at dawn. The curate of the diocese is picking me up at the rectory to drive me to the airport in Geneva.”

  “Thursday? Why so soon?”

  “It’s probably necessary. I’ll know more on Sunday morning. I’ve been told to go to the diocese before Mass.”

  She had great difficulty in imagining that soon he wouldn’t be there, that they would see each other only rarely. The parishioners would also miss him, that was certain.

  “The family from Charolles is very lucky that the baptism has been set for Sunday. A week later and it wouldn’t have happened. And it’s so very important to them.”

  “Yes, that was my impression.”

  “In any case, it’s not fair of them to transfer you at the very moment when all the fruits of your labors are being reaped!”

  He sighed, then smiled calmly. “The essential thing—more than reaping the fruits ourselves—is that we acted from our hearts and consciences, Alice. Jesus said: ‘Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.’”

  “I guess I haven’t attained that level of wisdom.”

  He looked at her with eyes full of kindness. “Who knows the exact significance of our actions? Who knows what we will have learned from this experience? Things sometimes seem to escape us in life, but it’s just that, at that moment, we are unaware of the deeper meaning.”

  * * *

  Germaine held her shopping bag against her stomach as she crossed the market square.

  “Throw feathers around—that’s just black magic!”

  “It’s hardly believable,” said Cornélie. “If anyone had told me we’d see that in Cluny, well, really…”

  “Jesus did say there would be false prophets.”

  “That’s true,” said Cornélie.

  Germaine lowered her voice. “Father Jeremy is a servant of the devil!”

  “Hush! You’re scaring me.”

  “It’s not surprising that he’s leaving for Africa. He must be going there to meet up with voodoo sorcerers.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Right from the start, I said you had to be careful of him. Right from the start!”

  “At least we weren’t taken in,” said Cornélie. “And it’s not as though we didn’t warn the others.”

  “Take Madame de Sirdegault. She defended him the other day!”

  “Before, she was a good woman.”

  “He must have cast a spell on her!”

  “The poor thing.”

  Germaine nodded her head in agreement. Suddenly she froze, stopping Cornélie by putting her arm in front of her.

  “Look who’s over there!”

  On the other side of the square, Father Jeremy was walking down the Rue de la République in his long, jet-black cassock.

  “My God,” said Cornélie, making the sign of the cross.

  Germaine kept very calm, grabbed her crucifix, held it out in the direction of the priest, and murmured in a solemn voice, “Vade retro, Satana!”

  30

  When she arrived in front of the church, Alice already felt very nostalgic.

  There were a few more people than before standing outside, like every week. The atmosphere was joyful and carefree. Most people had probably not yet heard about Jeremy’s departure.

  The morning sun lit up the medieval facades along the square, making their stones glisten. Most of the windows were still wide open, in the hope that the final moments of the day’s coolness would waft in.

  She greeted the familiar faces and went into the church to meet Jeremy. The parishioners were already sitting in their seats, especially the older ones, who feared that the newcomers might take their places.

  She saw the couple from Charolles, sitting on a bench next to the baptismal font with a little boy of seven or eight, the baby in his father’s arms. They were surrounded by people, probably their family and friends. The parents stood up and walked over to her, their eyes shining.

  “We want to thank you again. It’s thanks to you that he will be baptized today.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She crossed the nave. Jeremy wasn’t there yet. The sacristy was empty. The interview with the bishop must have gone on a bit.

  She walked back down the side aisle to go outside. At the entrance, many conversations were going on at once. There was a certain lightness in the air, and Alice found it difficult to believe that this would be the last time they would gather together for Jeremy’s Mass.

  But when was he going to get there?

  * * *

  “I’ve done my best to keep him here, but now, Your Grace, I think it’s best you see him. Otherwise I can’t be responsible for what happens.”

  Sitting behind his large gilt desk, the bishop raised one eyebrow. “Show him in.”

  The curate went out into the antechamber.

  “I have to go,” said Father Jeremy to the curate. “Please send my apologies to the bishop and
tell him I must carry out my obligations to my parishioners. I’m happy to come back after Mass if he wishes. Let me know.”

  He was already walking away when the curate touched his arm. “Wait.”

  “I can’t wait any longer.”

  “His Grace will see you now,” said the curate.

  Father Jeremy hesitated for a moment. “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t have any more time.”

  He had already turned toward the exit when the bishop’s voice called out from his office.

  “Come in, Father Jeremy!”

  The priest froze.

  “Follow me,” the curate whispered.

  They went into the office.

  “Sit down, Father Jeremy,” said the bishop as he took his place in the enormous armchair at the end of the long rectangular table.

  The curate stepped away to discreetly stand near the window next to the door.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to stay, Your Grace, because the Mass at Cluny starts in—”

  “Relax. We have all the time in the world. I’m sorry I was late, but it is absolutely necessary that you are prepared for your departure.”

  “But I’m expected at ten o’clock for Mass.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We’ll say it was an emergency. Everyone will understand.”

  The priest did not reply.

  The curate breathed a sigh of relief.

  The Mass would not take place. No farewell speeches or displays of emotion. The diocese would not be responsible for creating a martyr.

  Better to nip it in the bud and move on.

  * * *

  10:15.

  Jeremy’s delay was becoming embarrassing.

  Alice had been sure that the meeting with the bishop before morning Mass was a bad idea. She noticed a nun among the parishioners and walked over to her.

  “Father Jeremy isn’t here,” she said quietly. “Go to the rectory and call the bishopric and ask them what time he left.”

  The nun seemed to hesitate for a moment, then obeyed.

  People were looking at their watches and showing signs of impatience. Everyone had come in from outside, and the church was filling up.

  The elderly Victor came over to her. He had learned that Jeremy was leaving and was appalled. He started naming all the priests who had been there before Jeremy. But Alice wasn’t listening to him. She was too worried about the absence of her friend. She hoped nothing had happened to him on his way back.

  10:25.

  The nun finally came back. “Father Jeremy has been detained at the bishopric,” she said. “Mass has been canceled, and I’ve been told to tell the parishioners.”

  “Mass has been canceled?”

  The nun nodded. She looked as though she shared Alice’s disappointment. “Do you think you could…tell everyone?” she said, a pleading look on her face.

  Alice agreed.

  The nun disappeared in the direction of the rectory.

  Detained at the bishopric. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. The promised baptism, the sermon that meant so much to her…

  A nasty blow for everyone. Poor Jeremy couldn’t even say goodbye to his flock. Calling him to the bishopric, an hour away from Cluny, on the morning of Mass was very strange. Why not the day before, in the afternoon, or the next day? And now he was being detained there. Bizarre. What if it was to prevent the baptism?

  She didn’t trust those people. Especially after Jeremy’s arbitrary transfer. She felt they were capable of anything.

  Depressed, Alice went inside the church to announce, much against her will, the bad news. She had the impression that, despite herself, she was an accomplice to the bishopric’s maneuvers.

  Her heart broke when she saw the family from Charolles again. She controlled herself and walked over to them.

  “There’s a problem,” she said. “Father Jeremy has been detained at the bishopric. The Mass is being canceled.”

  “Canceled?” said the mother, her eyes opening wide.

  “But…what about the baptism?” asked the father.

  “I am sincerely terribly sorry for you. I’m so upset…”

  There was such an awful look of disappointment on their faces that she didn’t have the courage to tell them that Father Jeremy would not be holding any other Masses, and that the baptism would probably never take place.

  “Please, do something.”

  Alice, powerless, looked into their pleading eyes.

  They had moved heaven and earth, and she had promised them that their child would be baptized.

  “I’m so terribly sorry.”

  She moved away and walked toward the choir. The great disappointment of these people added to her own, added to her sadness, her helplessness, her anger. She walked past the candles, whose little flames fluttered with melancholy. Her bitter sigh would be enough to put them out.

  As always, when things eluded her, she felt a desire to act, to take control of the situation, not to give in to events, whether they were fortuitous or calculated by malevolent people. But in the present case, there was nothing to be done, and that increased her resentment.

  When she reached the foot of the rostrum, she turned to look at the people gathered there before stepping up. The nave was three-quarters full. Her heart ached as she thought back to the first Mass she had attended, five or six months before. Twelve parishioners had been there. Today, there were two or three hundred. And there would be even more of them if all the people who attended confession were there.

  How many would be left by the end of the year?

  She noticed Madame de Sirdegault, sitting in her seat in the first row as always, and wondered why she looked so troubled. She also recognized Étienne, a little farther away. She glanced again at the young couple, who were watching her, their little boy on their knees, the baby in their arms, the godfather, godmother, their family and friends around them. Everyone looked defeated. They had undoubtedly organized a party, gifts, the traditional sugar-coated almonds with the date printed on the packets…everything was ruined.

  Alice shook her head. This situation was unfair, no matter how you looked at it. She took a deep breath to help her nerves. The more she felt the unfairness of it, the more the desire to act grew within her, like some internal commandment.

  An idea came to mind, an idea so utterly inconceivable that she immediately dismissed it.

  But she then felt a kind of force rising from within her, something that was at once calling her and carrying her along with it. No. She couldn’t allow herself to do it; it was unacceptable.

  She felt torn, pulled between the internal call and her reason, which forbade her to follow it. She owed it to herself to be logical, to have a bit of self-control, to respect the rules as much as possible.

  She then remembered that Jesus had said: “So then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of my mouth.”

  I will vomit you out of my mouth. She repeated the words to herself for a few seconds.

  She climbed onto the platform and walked over to the microphone on the lectern.

  “Hello, everyone.”

  She heard her voice echo throughout the church.

  “I regret to inform you that Father Jeremy is being transferred. He will be leaving in a few days for a country far away. And we have just learned that he is now being detained at the bishopric.”

  She glanced over the entire audience. Everyone was looking at her in absolute silence.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m…I’m going to say Mass in his place today.”

  A wave of whispers ran across the nave from every direction. A few cries of indignation as well.

  She noticed the busybodies looking as if they were about to have a stroke. On top of his stone column, the sculpture of Pidou Berlu seemed even more astounded than ever.

  Some people stood up and walked out, soon followed by a few others.

  The situation was intimidating, especiall
y for her, as she normally had terrible stage fright whenever she had to speak in public. But she had made the move, following the momentum that was carrying her, listening to her heart, and she decided to continue, without pretending to be a priest, without seeking to be labeled with a specific role, but simply being herself and delivering the messages she wanted to deliver, the messages she had prepared for Jeremy’s sermon. Of course, she had forgotten the exact words, but again, she decided to trust her intuition, her instinct, and her heart, and not try to remember the lines written days before. Those days belonged to the past, and the truth of the moment is always greater than the truth of the past.

  Besides, this was not a show. She was saying this Mass for the parishioners and not for herself, and she expected nothing in return.

  She looked around at everyone who had remained. If they were there, it was to be awakened spiritually, as she herself had sought to be for several months. In the end, they were on the same quest, and she wanted to share what had begun to contribute to her own awakening. Not to keep it for herself, but to see that it benefited everyone.

  As the desire to pass on what she had learned grew in her, she began to feel a kind of friendship toward the assembled people.

  Then something amazing happened: her stage fright completely disappeared, vanished as if by magic. She had spent her whole life fighting against her shyness, a shyness that she skillfully hid by trying to be confident and take the lead, to the point that she appeared audacious. Now she suddenly found herself free, with no effort whatsoever. And she realized that shyness was also a product of the ego. The shy woman she had been had believed that at every moment in life, all eyes were focused on her to judge her. Wasn’t that idea…narcissistic?

  By refusing to play a role or to protect herself, by not trying to stand out one way or another, by being content to express what was dear to her heart at the present moment, by putting herself aside and instead serving her cause and the messages she wanted to pass on, by sincerely turning toward the people she intended those messages for, she had freed herself of her shyness.

  “My name is Alice. I’m a childhood friend of Father Jeremy’s. Even though I have often seen him doing this work, I’m not sure I know how to respect all the rules of Mass, but…”