Proof of Heaven

by Mary Curran Hackett

  The guide apologized in Italian and glared at Cathleen. “I have brought you here first, because I thought it best for all of us to say a prayer—to get us in the right frame of mind. I wanted you to see the beauty of this special cross that hangs above us here. I wanted you to see what Francis and Clare saw. I want you all to pray for Colm. God will hear you. God is here with us today. Prepare your hearts for Colm to be healed.”

  Cathleen composed herself, remembering why she had traveled all this way. As she entered the pew, faith filled her, chasing out any doubts brought on by the long journey. And she quickly pulled down the kneeler and began to pray. Colm sat down right next to Dr. Basu, inviting the doctor to wrap his arm around Colm’s shoulders. They stayed together quietly, watching his mother pray to the God Colm and Dr. Basu didn’t believe was listening.

  Later that afternoon, after lunch and reposo, Cathleen, Dr. Basu, and Colm followed their guide down a long hill and staircase leading to the Friary of San Damiano. It was exhausting for Cathleen and Dr. Basu; they couldn’t imagine what it was doing to Colm.

  They noticed Colm trailing farther and farther behind them. Dr. Basu turned back, taking the long steps—two at a time in certain places—reaching the boy and lifting him up on his shoulders. Colm hung over the doctor’s head, and Dr. Basu grabbled the boy’s ankles to support him and hold him as they descended the long staircase. Cathleen turned and saw what the doctor had done.

  “Thank you, Dr. Basu. Do you think he’s going to be OK?”

  “He’s very tired, Cathleen. Do you think this is really necessary?” Dr. Basu asked in a concerned voice.

  Colm groaned a little. He was so tired, he could barely muster the energy to say thank you or even complain.

  “We’ll be there shortly, Cathleen,” the guide assured. “I promise you, it will be worth it.”

  When they arrived at the friary, the guide spent a long time explaining the history and significance of the place as well as all the miracles attributed to it. Meanwhile, pilgrims and visitors filed past into the friary where the sisters of St. Clare had once lived.

  Dr. Basu could feel the boy’s weight much more on his shoulders. He was tired, but he could tell the boy was growing heavier with exhaustion, so he didn’t want to put him down.

  The doctor finally spoke up. “Do you think we could go in now, perhaps take the boy out of the sun?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I got so wrapped up! I’m sorry.”

  Dr. Basu took the boy off his shoulders, and they entered the friary. They were all relieved to be in the shade of the cool building. It was dark, and Colm grew frightened and clung to Dr. Basu’s leg. Dr. Basu reached down for him again and hoisted him up on his hip. The boy rested his head on the doctor’s shoulder, as a baby would, and the doctor could feel the warmth of his cheek and hot breath on his own neck.

  The guide led the way up the narrow staircase, and Cathleen followed close behind. The doctor and Colm fell behind considerably, as other visitors who were much faster passed them in their haste to get out of the dark, tight passageway. By the time Dr. Basu and Colm arrived upstairs, Cathleen and the guide were already waiting in the upper room where, the guide explained, Clare herself had died.

  The room was filled with other pilgrims and their accompanying guides; some were priests and some, like Cathleen and Colm’s guide, were Franciscan brothers dressed in their gray, black, or brown habits. Brother Rocco signaled to Colm, Cathleen, and Dr. Basu to move toward the middle of the room and announced: “Here is a good place. I feel positive energy from St. Clare. We will do it here.”

  Cathleen stood upright; she was so excited. This was it. This could be it for them. If this worked, Colm could be healed and everything in her life, in his, would be different, she thought.

  The guide pulled out a vial of oil he had in his pocket. He spoke to Colm directly.

  “Are you ready? Have you opened yourself to the healing power of Christ?”

  Colm looked at the doctor and his mother. Although he knew this couldn’t possibly work, he wanted something to happen. He did not want to end up like Clare.

  His mother urged him on. “Go on, Colm. Say yes.”

  “Yes, I guess.”

  “Good, my boy.”

  Brother Rocco rubbed the oil on his thumb and asked them to bow their heads, then kneeled down in front of the boy and made the sign of the cross with the oil on the boy’s forehead and chest. He chanted:

  Here in this most sacred space may you know the healing power of the crucified Jesus through the intercession of the Lady Clare.

  Then Brother Rocco said, “Now all of you join me in saying the Lord’s Prayer.”

  The four joined hands. Dr. Basu did not know the words, so he stood silently as the other three prayed the Our Father. When they were finished, the guide spoke a long prayer that he said St. Clare wrote about gazing upon, considering, and imitating God. Finally the friar said,

  In the Book of Life, your name shall be called glorious

  Among all people.

  Now go in peace, knowing you are loved and healed.

  When he stopped speaking, they broke the circle with their hands. “Now what?” Colm asked, looking up at his mother.

  “Now we wait,” Cathleen said, patting him on the back.

  “Wait for what?” Colm asked.

  “To see if the miracle takes,” she said.

  “What? Like medicine?” Dr. Basu asked.

  “Yes, something like that,” Cathleen whispered so Brother Rocco wouldn’t hear.

  The walk back to the pensione was brutal for Colm. Dr. Basu carried him back up the staircase and through the hilly streets. Cathleen couldn’t take her eyes off Dr. Basu holding her son, who had fallen asleep again and was nestled close to Dr. Basu’s chest. Watching him carry her son, her heart filled with gratitude. When they reached the room, he set the boy down on the bed and helped his mother tuck him in.

  “Thank you,” Cathleen whispered. “Thank you so much, for everything.”

  “I hope, for your sake and for the boy’s, Cathleen, that it works.”

  “So do I.”

  “Do you have a moment, Cathleen? I’d like to show you something.”

  “Where? I can’t leave Colm.”

  “It’s just outside your door, just a few steps down the hall. There is a terrace atop the adjacent roof, and it overlooks the valley as far as the eye can see. I went out there last night. The view is magnificent. You can see every star in the sky.”

  “I’d like to come, but I’m so tired and I need a shower. Plus—I am just not sure about leaving Colm here alone in the room by himself.”

  “I’ll tell you what, you take a shower, rest a bit, and I will go get us a meal. We can eat on the terrace, and I promise you, Cathleen, Colm will be safe. We’re just a few feet away. And there is no one here but you, me, Brother Rocco, and some nuns. Please. You must take care of yourself—and eat something, relax.”

  “You drive a hard bargain. Can I meet you there in an hour?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

  Dr. Basu left the room exhilarated. He loved being with Cathleen even if it was under such bizarre circumstances. He wanted to make this evening something extraordinary.

  Cathleen had no designs, no expectations for her evening on the roof, but she still primped and wondered how she might look to the handsome doctor. She spent a long time in the shower letting the water pour over her and scrubbing with the Assisi lavender bar. For the first time in years, her mind was completely at peace. Not a thought or a word passed through her otherwise anxious mind. When she was through with the shower, she stood naked in front of the mirror and examined her body, as she carefully brushed through her wet hair and let it flow loosely over her shoulders. She had not looked at herself in years, and she was not disappointed by what she saw. She had remained the same as always—slight yet curvy in all the right places as Pierce once told her. She saw her own face and noticed that it looked rested and red
dened by the sun. For the first time in years, she was comfortable in her own skin. She put on a long white sundress and covered her shoulders with a pink sweater. She smiled to herself as she did it, thinking of the crazy nun in Santa Chiara.

  Before leaving the room, she stood once more in front of the mirror and hardly recognized the woman staring back at her. Had it really been so long? Nearly seven years? She tried to remember the last time she had shared a meal with someone besides her son or brother. How had her busy life suddenly made her so alone? She shook off the thoughts and kissed Colm before she slipped out of the room.

  When she stepped onto the roof, she was delighted. The view was similar to the one from her room, but what the doctor had done was truly amazing.

  The table was set with a lit Chianti bottle dripping with candle wax. There were two wineglasses and a bottle of wine along with a loaf of bread and an assortment of cheese and fruit on a beautiful tray.

  “What’s all this?” Cathleen asked Dr. Basu, whose hair still glistened from his own shower. She could tell he had shaved again by the tiny nick near his unbuttoned white collar.

  “The sisters helped me. I said we’d like to eat on the roof tonight. Apparently, we’re not the first to have found it.”

  As she came closer, she noticed layers of candle wax on the stone table. Many people, probably people just like her who had come seeking miracles, had probably sat at the table well into the evening eating, drinking, and sharing their life stories over candlelight.

  “Is Colm still sleeping?” Dr. Basu asked as he pulled out a chair for Cathleen.

  “I think he’s out for the night. It’s been an exhausting couple of days.”

  “Yes. It has.”

  The doctor poured her a glass of wine. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Please, call me Gaspar.”

  “Thank you, Gaspar, for everything.” As she sipped her wine, Cathleen’s cheeks grew pink, and her green eyes shone even more brightly than usual.

  The doctor could barely contain his attraction to her. But being around beautiful women only made him nervous and prone to say ridiculous things, so he tried to keep quiet and listen to her.

  As the night wore on they grew more comfortable with each other and talked about everything under the stars. Just after midnight they thought they heard the faint sounds of young men singing together as they passed by on the streets below.

  “In the book I have been reading about St. Francis, it says that when he was a young man, he did just that, what those singers are doing now . . . he walked through the streets of Assisi carrying on,” Dr. Basu commented.

  “Young people don’t change much, do they?” Cathleen replied. “To be carefree. It’s easy to be a rebel when you’re young, when there’s so much less to lose. I was a bit of a rebel myself for a brief time.”

  “Really?” Dr. Basu could hardly believe the woman before him, who was so dedicated to her son and her brother, the same woman who knelt in prayer today, could have ever been what she called a rebel.

  “Well, Gaspar, I did have a child out of wedlock when I was twenty-two. I used to be sure I had it all figured out. You know there was a time when I didn’t go to church? When I drove my mother—and even the monsignor—crazy. Man, could my mom and I go at it. She had one hell of a temper, and so did I. But I loved her so much, and then, when she was gone I was so lonely, and things were so hard. Before I knew it, I was already deeply in love, and I didn’t care much about anything else. I didn’t care about all that my mother thought. I just crashed headlong into love,” Cathleen said.

  “Do you mean with Colm’s father?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask what happened? Where is he?”

  “I have no idea. Last I heard, L.A. I used to send him letters about what Colm was up to, but I never heard back from him. They were returned unopened. I took it as a sign that he just wanted to be left alone. Besides, I didn’t want to make a fool of myself begging him to come back, so I just gave up looking after a while. It’s like he just vanished though. Fell off the grid, so to speak. But that is very Pierce. He’s the typical artist-vagabond type. Not the ‘friend me’ or ‘text me’ type, if you know what I mean. So he’s not exactly the easiest person to track down. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s still on the street strumming somewhere or performing in some hole-in-the-wall bar. He’s a musician. He always said his only hope in life was to create something beautiful. I met him one day in a subway station, right around the time my mother got sick. He was busking for cash, and he started to sing to me—‘Mama, You Been on My Mind.’ He had a way with women, but back then I didn’t realize I wasn’t the only one.” She trailed off.

  “I am so sorry, Cathleen. That must have been very hard for you, for Colm,” Gaspar said, reaching across the table to touch her hand. It seemed unconscionable for a man to desert his woman and child—to have a choice in the matter. To decide to leave them. To decide to live without them. He could not rationalize the injustice of it all, of the world. A sudden rush of anger seized him, but he forced it back down. He understood now what made her so determined. What made her so careful. What kept her focused completely on her son and his survival.

  “Well, you don’t get to pick your fortune, do you? That’s life, right. No choice but to roll with it,” Cathleen lied, pretending to be OK with it all, to be stronger than she really was. “How about you, Gaspar? What’s your story? Did you ever think of getting married?”

  “I was married,” he said as he put down his fork and took in a long breath. He wasn’t sure he was up to saying it all out loud. He had never had to explain it to anyone, ever. When he left India, he left everything, even the story of it, all behind.

  “She, my wife, Niranjana, passed.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “She took her own life.”

  “Oh, my God!” Cathleen gasped. She was sorry to have brought up the painful memory, but before she could say anything else, the doctor began again. He was so matter-of-fact it knocked the breath out of Cathleen.

  “She took her own life after our only son, Dhruv, died when he was five. Like many small children in India, he contracted malaria. It kills many children to this day, millions every year, mostly poor children in poor countries—like my Dhruv.

  “I should have known something was wrong with him. I should have paid more attention. I dismissed him as a spoiled child, pampered by his mother, when he first became irritable and listless. Those are the first telltale signs of the disease. I wanted badly to believe that my family was untouchable and that I had some arrangement with the gods. Like most young people do. But when we got to the hospital, it was too late. He was so dehydrated and so ill that it took no time at all. See, Cathleen, there was a reason he wept and why he cried out in pain. And there was a way to fix him. I just didn’t know it back then.

  “I foolishly thought that knowledge would bring my wife peace. That she would understand we could try again, and that I would be careful to make sure that it wouldn’t happen again. I assured her that her grief would be filled up by the joy of another child. But she didn’t want another child. She only wanted Dhruv. I know part of her blamed herself for not being forceful enough with me. I remember the day . . . the day we took him in. She was so angry with me. She would not look at me. She muttered to herself over and over that she should have gone and done it on her own. That there was no use for men. That even as a medical student, I was of no use to her or her son. She cursed me and cursed the gods. I had never seen her so angry. After they covered Dhruv with the white cloth, she threw her body over him and when I went to . . .”

  Gaspar stopped and inhaled deeply as if to suppress the tears, his own rage.

  “I went to hug her and comfort her, but she said to never touch her again. I said she needed to be held, and that I did, too. But she walked out of the room, and I was alone with Dhruv. I-I-I,” Dr. Basu stuttered as if about to break into tears, but he managed to force them back again. “I c
ould not hug him or touch him. I knew he was not there. The only life I had known and loved was gone. The only thing left was Niranjana’s rage. It was everywhere; it filled up all of India.

  “During the night, before the preparation of pinda for the god of death and our ceremonial cleansing, she woke early and went to the river where we’d put Dhruv’s ashes. She walked in as if she could follow him to the next life. She never came up again. Many days later, in another village, some people found her body on the bank.”

  He paused for a moment and tried to blink back the emotion and the memories that came with the story. He didn’t want to look at Cathleen in case she judged him and blamed him too. He was still so ashamed. But he wanted to tell it all, finish it—for himself and for Cathleen.

  “I left India soon after. I went to New York to finish medical school. I thought I would be able to do something with my life—save someone else’s life, since I had been powerless to save or fix my own child’s or my wife’s.”

  Cathleen sat breathless. She saw the moments when she first met him in a new light, how he was with Colm during their first visit, how he took to the boy, and how dedicated he was to her—how quickly he agreed to come on this trip.

  Cathleen trembled. “Please. I . . . I shouldn’t have said anything,” he apologized.

  “You should have told me everything . . . a long time ago! Why didn’t you tell me?” Cathleen pushed herself away from the table and stood at the edge of the roof overlooking the valley below.

  “Because I am your son’s doctor,” Gaspar said, coming up behind her. “It was not my place. A doctor is not supposed to unload his troubles on his patients.”

  “But I thought you were more than that! I thought . . . I thought . . . we were . . .”

  “What?”

  “Friends?”

  “Oh, yes. Friends.”

  “No, I mean I thought you and I had come to some understanding; oh, I don’t know what I thought.”