Apocalypsis 1.07 Vision Read Online Free PDF Page B

Who else is sitting there? Who has the amulet?«
    »Maria.«

LVI
    May 15, 2011, Montpellier
    H ail! Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To you do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To you do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then, O most gracious advocate, your eyes of mercy towards us; and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of your womb, Jesus. O clement! O loving! O sweet Virgin Mary!«
    Maria ended her third rosary as usual with the Salve Regina , and already she felt more stable and less lost than before. The recitation of the 150 Hail Marys of the full rosary gave her strength, keeping her inner self from falling apart and her dark thoughts at bay. The almost mechanical praying of the Psalter of Mary, each one followed by a meditation on another mystery, translated her from this world and wrapped her in a protective cloak against hopelessness and loneliness. And rarely had there been a time in her life when she had felt as lost and lonely as she had felt since saying goodbye to Peter last night. She was overcome by a strange trepidation that robbed her of sleep, shaking her soul at the fine line between her two identities: Maria the nun and Maria the human being. A human being of flesh and blood and unfulfilled desires. A woman who was as susceptible to the tides of her emotions as any other human being. But for a nun who lived her faith, emotions were one thing and desires were another. The solemn vows that she had once taken from the bottom of her heart protected her from the desires of the flesh, blending both Marias into an indivisible entity. However, last night a small gap had formed between these two Marias, a fine hairline crack exuding the scent of an aftershave, the warmth of a hand and certain desires and images that she could not allow. When she thought back to the last week, it all started to come back, all the terrible and mysterious things that had happened. Days filled with death and imminent doom. And yet at the same time, one of the most wonderful weeks of her life. Maria began to feel shame and guilt as she admitted this to herself.
    How much she had enjoyed these days with Peter!
    How free she had felt! Free and complete.
    And beautiful.
    When had she last felt like this? Maria lay undressed on the bed of her small hotel room in Montpellier, trying to remember. She was still holding the rosary in her hand, letting it rest calm and heavy on her belly. Silently she watched her belly rise and fall with every breath. Through a gap in the curtains, she could see a slice of the sky. Images of her childhood flashed before her eyes. A garden. Her mother’s laugh. Her father’s hands as he played the piano. Her dismay and the realization that he could no longer be with her. The anger at seeing him but not being able to hug him. The exuberance she felt when she and her mother rode their bikes together. Then Richard, her first boyfriend. His face next to hers as he was sleeping. Later on: the silence of the convent. The beaming smile on Grace’s face because her family had taken her back. The grief on the face of an adolescent LRA rebel. The sight of a straying hyena. The confidence that she found in prayer.
    Suffering and happiness, always so close together. God’s wonderful and mysterious plan. The secret of life and faith: trust in God.
    But this was the problem: she had lost her unconditional trust when Peter flew away last night. She tried to picture the copper island. She tried to imagine how Peter had landed there with his parachute. But the images remained hazy, as if shrouded by fog. Why hadn’t she tried to stop him making this insane attempt? It was possible that he was dead, that he had crashed or drowned, or that they had caught and tortured him, and perhaps she would never find out about it. At the thought that she might never see Peter again, she felt another wave of shame and guilt sweep over her. Not