From Comfortable Distances Read Online Free PDF

heard them consciously, but somehow their sound had seeped into her.
    She made a U-turn so that
she was behind him. He looked back at her and smiled, bobbing his head from
side to side, as if he were trying to get water out of his ears. She wasn’t
going to let this kook job freak her out. She was going to find out his story
and then be on her way. After all, if there was someone insane in the affluent
Mill Basin as she liked to call it when she was in her selling mode, she wanted
to know about it, if only to be able to acknowledge him when she was out with
potential buyers, explain his story and quell any anxiety that her customer’s
might feel.
    She lost him at the light
at Avenue U, but then she was behind him again after the light changed, and
when he got to St. Bernard’s Church, he parked his bike on the side of the
building and went in. Tess sat in her car for a few moments, waiting, watching,
and suddenly, she was pulling into a parking spot and getting out of her car.
She wasn’t in the habit of following strangers, and yet she couldn’t seem to
quiet her curiosity.
    Tess eased open the heavy
wooden door of the chapel and was hit with cool air and the smell of sharp
incense—a mix of frankincense and licorice—seeped into her throat and then her
chest, so that she felt heavier. She had never stepped foot in this church in
the 30-plus years that she lived in Mill Basin. The only temples she had
visited were the Buddhist ones her mother had dragged her into.
    The chapel was sparsely
lit with long stemmed candles and a dim drop-down light in the center of the
room. In the back where she stood, there were rows intermixed with burning
votive candles and ones that were yet to be lit. Beside the table was a worn
wooden donation box with a chain and padlock around it. The stage was adorned
with candles, as was each of the window ledges, the dancing flames illuminating
the stained glass panels of Christ and Mary and men who Tess guessed where the
apostles. Their agonized faces glowed surreal so that from certain angles, they
looked as if they were about to fall out of the panels and land before Tess,
begging for help. 
    There were rows of wooden
benches, all empty; a glistening hard wood floor, and a high ceiling that gave
the room a hollow feeling. If she focused on the crisp, white wall opposite the
windows, she noted the angels etched into it. They struck her as tacky, over
the top—the angels were too far away and out of reach to help anyone.
    The backdrop of the stage
was an enormous cross with a worn and weary Mary holding a dying Jesus across
her lap. The image stilled Tess. To be a mother. To lose a son. To hold him
dying. Tears came to her eyes and she laughed at herself; she didn’t understand
where this emotion came from. Prakash was safe and well in San Francisco—she had
just talked to him that morning. On the stage was a pulpit with a microphone
and a table dead center with candles and some prayer books stacked on it. Tess
found a seat in a pew in the back of the room, took a daily prayer book on her
lap, dusting it off, and closed her eyes. It felt nice to be sitting in this
foreign place, the air cool and fragrant; she had grown accustomed to the smell
of the incense by this time. They were not sweet like the nag champa incense,
but harsher, more intense.
    Tess didn’t know how long
she had zoned out when the door creaked shut. She felt refreshed, as if she had
awakened from a long, deep sleep, and she thought of the other night, the yoga
class. She didn’t think of herself as the type of person to fall asleep in
public places. She imagined that Michael would have a field day at her expense
over this new phenomenon.
    The crazy man made his
way down the center aisle. He walked slowly and precisely, as if he were
balancing a book atop his head.  He stopped when he was a few feet from the
stage and made the sign of the cross.  
    “Hail Mary, full of
grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you