cloudless sky, aware of the place where the women had disappeared into - ah, a grotto made of natural weathered rock rising from the earth where a small path had been excavated into. It was very dark and very deep inside, the closed space echoed with reverence and the soft murmur of voices in repetition. The student bent low beneath the rock face, drawn toward the sound of the voices.
There -! A soft flicker of candlelight dashed upon shadow and barren cave floor. Then, the corridor opened up into a low small room with a niche carved into the rock side, the women knelt on hard ground humbled before the beatific face of a rough-carved statue of the Goddess Kannon inside a tiny shelf.
No...not Kannon. The student recognized and appreciated the wiliness of early Kirishitan in disguising the robed woman with an ornate headdress as the traditional Goddess of Mercy. She was none other than the holy virgin of Christian faith, Mary, the mother of Jesus.
“Holy Mary, mother of God...,” the student begun to cross himself stricken by the same feeling of being in a sacred one’s presence - and the girl did the same, illuminated by the glow of candlelight with the full flush of religious fervor burning in her bright eyes, she lifted her head and the student was instantly snared by that face - her!
It was -
He was rudely awakened by the ring of a phone near his ear. In the bright sunlight of early morning, he stumbled up, blurry-eyed, confused, still looking for the owner of that familiar face. Dawning disappointment crushed his hopes and dejectedly, he answered the phone on its ninth ring. “Father, how’re you and mother?” He answered confidently, knowing few people who would allow the phone to ring continuously past the third ring. Those few included his professors who were among those who had his personal number. The cabin was outfitted with a mainline that had been disconnected last year. The owner of the cabin had promised to call a workman to fix the line. The student knew the appointment had been fixed for sometime in the next couple of days.
“Your mother’s fine but worried about you up there by yourself.” The elder Kisshoan’s gravel voice growled lowly through the speaker end. The prodigal son sighed over maternal concern guessing it lay with the lack of prospects for her son’s romantic future. “Again? Tell her not to worry so much! It’ll turn her hair grey. I’m fine up here,” he stressed earnestly, I’ve never been happier.” His eyes darted toward the cat clock ticking on the wall.
Nine am...,
Good.
The museum would be opening within the hour.
“Are you sure?”
The student ran his free hand through his hair sufficing a comb, he went around the den furniture opening the door into the guest bedroom. “I’m good,” he insisted, grabbing a T-shirt and jeans from the closet. “In fact, I wish my time here would never end.”
Her Portrait in Black Page 2
