Read Online The Whispering of Bones by Judith Rock - Free Book Online Page B

benefits of obedience. Finally, he said to his novice director, “Well,
mon père
, it is inexpressibly comforting to understand that
I
, at least, am not God!”
    Charles smiled in spite of himself. “Did you make that up for my edification,
mon père
?”
    â€œIt is true, I promise you! And one day in time to come, if I am not much mistaken, you will tell it to some other young man of ours.”
    They went into the silent refectory, whose bare floor, walls of snow-white plaster, and high ceiling made it seem colder than the courtyard. Charles took a glass of watered wine from the side table, cut himself slices of bread and cheese, and began to eat. Richaud, Donat, and Le Boeuf, standing together and eating on the other side of the big table, pretended not to notice him. Charles ate quickly and drained his glass. Then he gave thanks; returned the empty glass to the side table; nodded to Damiot, who had just come in; and escaped outside. But two bent, elderly Jesuits were coming slowly up the stairs, and he went back and held the door open for them.
    â€œBut did you
hear
her this morning?” one of them said, loudly aggrieved, as he climbed. The irreverence!”
    â€œShhh. I think everyone in the chapel must have heard her,” his companion replied, and Charles realized they were talking about the two women who had argued after Mass.
    â€œWhy on earth her husband left her the business, I cannot fathom,” the first man said, shaking his white head. “I tell you, a self-respecting cleric can hardly go into the shop now, she’s selling such blasphemy!”
    â€œOh?” His companion leaned closer. “More obscene books from Holland?”
    â€œThose, no doubt, but even worse, she’s got
Descartes
displayed
downstairs
—not to mention that poor, bitter-tempered Pascal! How that man could be so blind to God’s good gifts I cannot fathom. And we taught Descartes—how he could—”
    â€œWell, Pascal and the Jansenists are at least Catholics . . .”
    The two men made their way through the door, and Charles closed it thankfully as the college clock chimed the half hour. As he went briskly down the stairs, Damiot caught up with him. “Where do you go now?” he said.
    â€œI go to Père Remy, here in the fathers’ courtyard, for the Saint Thomas Aquinas class.”
    â€œHow do you like the class? And how many of you are there?”
    â€œThere are eight of us starting theology. As for the class, it’s all right. Except that because of my height, I’m assigned to the back bench, and Père Remy is hard to hear. Which is not going to make Saint Thomas any clearer.”
    Damiot grimaced in commiseration. “Yes, Thomas can be obscure enough without that. And after Thomas, what do you do?”
    â€œI have my first session on Saint Augustine at the Novice House. With Père Quellier. The eight of us go in pairs on different days. I go with Maître Richaud,” Charles finished ruefully.
    â€œYou’re fortunate. He’s a great authority.”
    â€œOh? Maître Richaud is?” Charles said innocently.
    â€œThat doesn’t deserve an answer. So far as I know, Maître Richaud is an authority on nothing but sheets.” Until now, Richaud had been a
cubiculaire
, overseeing student chambers and shepherding boarding students through their daily schedules. “Well, keep your heart up,
maître
, Père Quellier is worth a little suffering.”
    â€œI hope so,” Charles said with a sigh. “May all your students be bright today.”
    â€œHmmph. That is tantamount to hoping that our Lord will come back to earth before dinner. Which one may hope for without expecting it.” But Damiot strode eagerly toward the Cour d’honneur and his first Latin grammar class of the day.
    As Charles crossed the court to an old timbered house where the scholastics’ classes were held,