by J. T. Lundy
Jacqueline reached across the table and touched the top of my hand affectionately, bringing me out of my thoughts of money. She smiled, and I was all hers.
“This is very serious, Jason.”
“Very serious,” I said.
She didn’t smile. She did look serious. “Negotiations can be tough. I can’t reveal all the details now, but I want you to know I’m just doing my job.”
I pounded my chest. “I can be tough.”
Her face look conflicted, like something between sympathy and admiration. “I wish I could be like you sometimes—relaxed and carefree, everything a game.”
She was wrong, though; I didn’t feel relaxed and carefree. I was so excited to be talking to her that my stomach sizzled like it was full of Pop Rocks. I’d do anything for this woman. “Don’t you worry; I’ll convince the Morceau sisters to sell.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely!” I thought back to all the schemes I had hoodwinked Aunt Clara on. A new abbey in Provence. I could sell that. It was all coming together. I was getting confident, and my mouth got ahead of the weak self-monitoring sensor in my brain. “No problem. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s bullshitting old ladies.”
Jacqueline didn’t blink. She seemed encouraged. “Bullshitting? That’s good, right?”
“Yes, yes. The sisters will sell for sure.” I could feel my body and face radiating with excitement. “And then we can celebrate—with champagne!”
Jacqueline laughed and relaxed. “Oui, we can celebrate with champagne.”
I stood up. “I have to go.” I was going to cash in on millions and be Jacqueline’s hero in one stroke. “I have to find the sisters.”
I drove in a fever, battling the thin country road back to the convent like a true Frenchman, excited to tell the sisters about the French government’s plan. I had sixteen days left, and I was beginning to think I could actually pull this off.
The abbey’s hallways teemed with busy nuns quietly heading to prayers or other such nun-ish events. I made my way, tank-like, toward the Morceau sisters’ office.
“Jason, what’s wrong?”
I stood in the doorway and looked at a group of nuns sitting at a long table. Sister Claudette and Sister Lucia sat together at one end. “We need to talk.”
They stood up and came to me, their faces concerned. Sister Claudette wrapped her arm around my shoulder and led me down a short side hallway. “There’s a small private chapel where we won’t be bothered.”
She opened the door and turned on the lights. Six wooden pews lined up behind a small altar. In the last pew, Stumpy and Sister Melanie sat sucking lips like they needed to breathe each other to live.
Sister Claudette gasped.
Sister Lucia said, “Ooh.”
Sister Melanie screeched and stood up.
Stumpy turned red and smiled guiltily.
Sister Claudette did not control her anger. She lashed out at Stumpy, Sister Melanie, and me at once. “You are a visiting nun. That does not mean you are on vacation from your obligations.” She spun to Stumpy. “And you, you chubby little Baptist. I thought you were a good Christian, nonetheless.”
Sister Melanie straightened her habit. “But, Sister—”
Sister Claudette’s wrath bore down on Sister Melanie. “Don’t you ‘but Sister’ me.” She pointed her finger right at Sister Melanie’s heart. “You are to be silent for the remainder of your stay. And you are confined to the convent with kitchen duty from sunup to sundown.”
Her anger revved higher, I feared for the devil himself if he were so unlucky to meet Sister Claudette. She poked Stumpy in the chest with her index finger. “You are banned.”
Stumpy had lots of abuse-taking experience. He put on his dumb, innocent look which only enraged Sister Claudette more.
“Don’t give me that. You try to seduce a nun in a convent—in a chapel, no less? I hereby ban you from St. Sebastian.”
Before I knew it, Sister Claudette was in front of me. All I could see was black and white and her enraged eyes. “I’m sure you’ve played your part in this. Have you no respect for the sanctity of this place?”
“Tell her, Jason,” Stumpy said. “Tell her how God is love. Tell her how Melanie and I are meant to be.”
“I knew it.” Sister Claudette glared into my eyes. “God is love to those who deserve it.” She spread her hands out. “God’s love is a gift to those who obey his laws and to those who honor their vows.” She looked at Sister Melanie. “God’s love is not cheap.”
“Ah, Sister,” I said. “I don’t think you understand. You’re being a bit tough.”
She looked around at all of us. “I understand perfectly well. Thank God we’ve stopped this before it went any further.” And then her pointy finger pounded me in the chest. “I’ll show you tough. You are banned, as well. I want you and your friend off this land by tomorrow. I’ll honor Clara’s will, but you will enjoy no profits until you are the official owner.”
I threw up my hands. “But, Sister!”
“No more buts. Now everyone out. Sister Melanie and I have a lot of praying to do.”
Sister Lucia covered her eyes and cried.
CHAPTER 11
“Now what are we going to do?”
Stumpy did not respond.
It was the next morning, and we had to vacate. Stumpy and I moped around the house and slowly packed our belongings. Acting like ourselves had worked—unfortunately too well, and too soon—and we found ourselves back in our sad old problems: no job, no money, and no prospects.
“Where are we going to come up with sixty grand?”
Stumpy still did not respond.
I sat down at the kitchen table and plopped a grape into my mouth from a deep purple bunch that sat in a bowl. I couldn’t think of anyone who would loan me that kind of cash, and with court problems and a missing passport, no bank would be willing to lend me the money—no matter how solid my possible inheritance looked. I couldn’t even get back into the US without a hassle. Perhaps being a fugitive in Europe was my best hope.
“Where are we going to go?” I asked.
Nothing. Stumpy continued to fold his underwear, taking five minutes per garment.
“Hello? Hello! Hello! Hey, thong-man. We’ve got a serious problem here.”
Stumpy used his thumbs to slingshot a blue-striped brief at me. “I don’t care.”
Disgusted, I pinched the tiniest amount of elastic band and flipped the oversized underwear back to him. “What is that, a flag?”
“Vertical stripes are slimming.” He was serious, but at least he was talking, and with Stumpy that usually signaled his shorts were becoming unbunched.
“So,” I said. “On the hundred to one shot your jockey wins the trifecta …” I counted with my fingers. “One, you get a girl alone. Two, you take your clothes off. And three, she doesn’t bolt. You’re going to impress her by slimming down the old horse with striped skivvies?”
“Well, I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
I pulled up my whitey tighties above my jeans. “White, see? The standard—fattens up the package.”
Stumpy started laughing. “Man, Jason, you’re fucked up.”
I popped another grape into my mouth and stood up. I spread my hands apart and talked as I chewed. “I’m fucked up? Dude, we’re standing on ten million grape skins and all you can think about is baggin’ a nun.” I held my hands to my chest. “I’m fucked up?”
“It’s not that way and you know it.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I know.” I closed my eyes and sighed. “But, Jesus, Stumpy.”
Stumpy zipped up his suitcase. “Jesus, you, Jason. All you can think about is the cash.”
Okay, so what. All I could think about was the cash. I’d been accused of being greedy and selfish before. Well, who the hell isn’t? “Like that’s a big surprise to you, Stumpy. Don’t give me that altruistic bullshit. Every poor sap buys a lottery ticket once in a while ho
ping for the good stuff. Greed is in us all; I’m just not afraid to admit it.”
Stumpy grabbed a handful of grapes and shoved them into his mouth. He garble-talked worse than I did around the purple pearls. “What about the vineyard? What about the sisters? What about love?” He swallowed and spoke clearly. “What about Jacqueline?”
“Psh—just a girl.”
“Psh, right. I saw how goose-bumpy you were after that lunch. It’s been a long time, but I know the old J-man-flip-o-rama over a girl when I see it.”
I tried to gather the gumption to confound his insight with some macho bullshit, but I thought of Jacqueline and couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t wait to see her again. She was so beautiful, and funny, and kind, and I was pretty sure she liked me. It was like she saw right inside of me—into who I really was. She saw the good and the bad—and thought it all good! She was really worried about her job, though. I had to help her. I had to figure out a way to convince the sisters to sell—for Jacqueline and me. If I didn’t, I’d be sent to the slammer in the states and probably never see Jacqueline again. Damn Eustace! Why did he have to be such a snake? Aunt Clara and I were true family—Eustace was only a nasty blip in our lives. Couldn’t he see that? Did he have to try and steal the vineyard in such an underhanded way? We had an agreement! We shook hands in front of Aunt Clara. “You bastard!”
“Say what?”
“Sorry, Stumpy. I was thinking about Eustace.”
I didn’t have to explain further. “Oh.”
I had to come clean with Stumpy. “All right, you got me.”
“Where?”
“Jacqueline, you dope. You were right. I think I love her. I think I love her more than I thought I’d ever be able to love again.”
He looked surprised. “Really?”
“What do you mean, really? You’re the one who brought it up.”
Stumpy looked thoughtful. He rubbed his chin. “Yes. I know, but I’m surprised you admitted it. You’ve taken a big step, Jason. I’m happy for you. Maybe this isn’t such a bad day after all.”
How could Stumpy always see the bright side of everything? “Great day? Stumpy, this day is the beginning of the end. The end of our chances of cashing in on ten million.”
Stumpy sat my suitcase upright for me. We were ready to go. “You’re right. Everyone’s selfish and greedy, but look around you.” Stumpy did a three-quarter spin around and then back like a sprinkler. “You have to balance that with what’s important in life. Otherwise, where are we?”
“Where are we? Where are we going to go?” Stumpy had some points. I give him that. I laughed. “You should have your own talk show, man.”
“Where will you go?” Sister Lucia stood in the doorway. How long she was there, I didn’t know.
“There’s a gypsy river camp by Beynac we got our eye on, Sister.”
“Like in Chocolat,” Stumpy said.
Sister Lucia walked into the room. “Why don’t you hold off for now.”
The gumball machine spun, and I hoped for a good one. “We’ve been forgiven?”
Sister Lucia smiled. “I forgive you.”
Stumpy ran to her, and they held hands. “Thank you, Sister.”
“But—”
“But, Sister Claudette,” I said.
“But, Sister Claudette,” she said. “You must understand she is very protective over her nuns—and the vineyard, for that matter.”
Stumpy looked at me. “Things that are important to her.” Stumpy offered Sister Lucia the grapes. She tasted one and her face puckered. “Sour.”
“Like Sister Claudette,” I said.
They both frowned at me and looked disappointed, though not unexpectedly so.
“Sister Claudette cares about you, Jason. Both of you boys are important to her.” Sister Lucia put a hand on each of our shoulders. “More important than you know. Still, even though she has calmed down, she is far from forgiving you two.”
“There’s a club she could join,” I said. It was all more Aunt Clara-like talk. You are important to me—but a “grave disappointment.” I felt bad that Sister Claudette had too-high expectations concerning yours truly, but what could I do—stop being me?
Sister Lucia looked at me, confused, and then continued. “Sister Claudette has agreed to a meeting to more calmly discuss the situation.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Stumpy said.
“But not with you,” she replied to Stumpy. He looked to the ground, disappointed. Stumpy was always the last guy picked, always left out, but there was nothing I could do this time. Sister Lucia looked at me. “Would you join me and Sister Claudette this afternoon?”
“Of course. In your office?”
“We will pick you up. We are going to go for a drive.”
A 1957 classic Citroën DS pulled up after the noon hour. A wooden rosary was hung from the rearview mirror. Sister Claudette drove. Sister Lucia smiled from the passenger seat, her hands folded in her lap. The car had flat black paint and white leather interior and looked like an extension of the sisters.
I sat in back and was chauffeured—destination heaven or hell, both seemed likely enough. We drove around the vineyard, our windows rolled down. The air was cool and still smelled of the Atlantic, one hundred kilometers away. We drove over the hillcrest that landscaped our patio view, and down the dusty road to the very back valley of the vineyard. If it were anyone else besides the Sisters driving me to this unknown destination I would have been terrified. It felt like I was in a movie being driven out to some secret Mafia burial ground. The car climbed another large hill that marked the property’s boundary. A small stone chapel sat at the very top. I had walked into this valley before, but had yet to climb this hill. The car lurched over rocks as it struggled up the incline. Halfway up, we pulled off to a grassy outcropping.
I exited the car with the sisters, and we walked over to some gravesites and an aboveground burial vault. Matthew and Mark were next to the vault, lazing on the grass, panting easily. They gave me a break and paid me no mind. I swallowed. “Barnes” was inscribed on the vault’s side. A list of names was etched on a tarnished copper plaque. Encased photographs surrounded it.
Sister Lucia bowed her head and prayed silently.
Sister Claudette pointed to a picture of a man and woman standing together. “Your grandparents.” The couple was fiftyish. They were tan, their clothes loose over their slim frames and taut skin. The man’s nose was long and could have been mine. Sister Claudette pointed out more pictures and more names, but it became a jumble to me.
I continued to stare at my grandparents. In the photograph they stood next to the vintner’s house where the patio began. The vineyard, dusty looking in black and white, stretched behind them. The vines were younger, but the house and view were the same as I had come to know. I became oddly nostalgic. It was like this mystical past that Aunt Clara always rambled on about suddenly became real. I felt heavy in my bones. Aunt Clara and I shared this. I felt guilty. We shouldn’t have become so estranged.
“And my parents? Is there a photograph of my parents?” I thought of the photograph I had of my parents that hung in my apartment. When I was old enough to understand, Aunt Clara had explained that I was an illegitimate child. My parents had escaped their parents’ wrath and public humiliation by running away to the United States to live with my mother’s sister, Aunt Clara. They planned to elope after they gave birth to me, but a month before the marriage they were killed in the car crash. Aunt Clara took me in out of obligation and gave me her and my mother’s last name, Barnes.
“Your parents are not buried here,” Sister Claudette said.
Sister Lucia put her hand on my back. She must have seen that I was confused. “The photographs encased here are only of people buried in this tomb.”
The vault looked only big enough for one coffin. “All these people are buried in there?”
“No.” Sister Lucia snickered. “When the sun beats down on the vault it can reach over
four hundred degrees inside and eventually the corpse incinerates.”
“Like a magic-cleaning oven,” I said.
Sister Claudette scowled. “Let’s move on.”
The car climbed further up the hill until we pulled off onto the hard-packed ground next to the chapel. Square sand-colored stones of different sizes were mortared together to form the rectangular chapel. A thin cross stood atop a crumbling, aged steeple. A small iron bell hung from a window below the cross. A red Roman tile roof, patched with gray stones, sheltered the top. A small stained glass window was on each chapel side.
Inside the chapel, sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows. Pedestals with lit candles surrounded a small altar. It smelled of wax and incense. Two nuns sat in the front pew, their heads bowed in prayer. The sisters gave me a short tour, stopping at a small glass cabinet. “Our relics,” Sister Lucia said. Inside the cabinet, small pieces of cloth were strewn over a rosary and wooden crosses. On the middle shelves, small brown pieces that looked like bones rested on each other. A row of silver and gold chalices lined the bottom shelf. I wondered how much they were worth. Probably a pretty penny. Should I add that in when figuring out the sale price? Naw, they probably would stay with the Sisters and the church. I wanted to ask, but I figured it was impolite, and kept my mouth shut for a change.
Sister Claudette led us outside. She looked around and waved her palm slowly across the grand view. The breeze picked up, and soft white clouds hurried overhead; their shadows, like dark green zeppelins, floated across the valley floor. The air smelled different here. It was thin and crisp and had not yet touched the richness of St. Sebastian Vineyard. The opposite hill blocked the vintner’s house, but to the left stood St. Sebastian abbey watching over the chapel like a parent over a small child.
“This vineyard. This place is your history,” Sister Claudette said.
I was beginning to understand, although it was difficult. I had felt out of place most of my life. This land was beautiful. I could appreciate that on a different level now after seeing the tomb and all my ancestors. “I’m sorry, Sister Claudette, Sister Lucia. I did not mean to disrespect you, nor the St. Sebastian nuns. I was only trying to help Stumpy.”
