| The father has restored the office of the Templar Swords, a small gathering within the parish itself that exists by special dispensation from our bishop--their purpose to provide additional protection to the parish, its clergy and congregation. It is currently being headed by a new arrival to Midian, a retired police officer from Chicago named Matthew O'Keeffe. He is an older gentleman, but hale, and so very kind to everyone who has come to the parish for help. And he has been such an incredible boon to the parish! It seems Matthew owns both a construction company and an importing business. And bless the man, he saw to acquiring the supplies we needed for repairing the church! The pews, carpet, and windows have all been replaced, and the church looks more beautiful than ever. |
Poor Matthew, though--his health is not the best. I keep him in my prayers, and hope he will quickly heal, but Midian is not known for being kind. He is such a great and kindly soul--I pray God will keep him safe. Matthew has also joined our tiny choir as our organist; I had the opportunity to hear him play yesterday, and his talent is truly extraordinary. We are so very lucky to have him!
| Yesterday's repairs to the church went surprisingly well. It is true, what they say, that many hands make light work! We were joined by a rather interesting woman--a biomech, I believe--named Samantha Han, whose strength was truly amazing. She was able to go to the docks, to Matthew's ship, and bring all the stained glass panels back to the church in a single trip. Then between Matthew, Sam, Guin, and a pretty neko named Tae (I think? oh, I am so bad at remembering names!), they were able to remove all the wood that Fr. Eamon put up to cover the empty windows and replace them with the brand new glass. The church is so lovely now! (I'm afraid I didn't do much myself, other than hold the doors for Sam when she returned with the panels. If the church looks beautiful now, it is because of them! God bless them all!) The conversation I had with the neko was an interesting one. She seems such an innocent where the Church is concerned--trying to explain the nature of my position and the priests of the parish was an exercise in comedy and misunderstanding. But I found our conversation enjoyable, and I hope she will return. |
| Unfortunately, she does seem to be terribly skittish, bless her heart. Sammy seemed to set the neko on edge more than once, and Matthew's organ playing, while very beautiful to me (and I would imagine Sam as well, as she seemed very taken with the music while Matthew was playing) appeared to be making the neko nervous. To her credit, however, she did remain, and her nimbleness and skill at scaling the church's old stone no doubt eased the difficulty of replacing the stained glass windows. I hope she comes again, as I would love to talk with her more about the Church. Perhaps it would be in vain, but one never knows. The Lord works in mysterious ways. I take heart in this, our brief moment of brightness, and hope it will continue. There is such darkness surrounding the parish of late, with rumors and whispers of terrible things waiting to strike against us, but the continued determination of the father, and now the stalwart presence of Matthew and our new friends, leave me hope that we will weather this too and be stronger for it in the end. |
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me...
- Location:The Cloister
- Mood:
hopeful
Dear Reverend Mother:
I write this in the sincere hope that my letter reaches the mainland, but the post from Midian is rather unreliable. I would attempt a call instead, but the phone lines in the church are down, for reasons I'll explain in a moment. I could have asked the father for permission to use his personal line, but he has been terribly distracted of late, for reasons you'll soon understand, and I could not find it in my heart to trouble the poor man further.
There is so much to tell you, but in this letter I will keep myself to the news of greatest importance.
| I am writing this letter from Zoe's Cafe, a small eatery on Midian's main street, little more than a block from the church. I feel safer there, especially during the daytime, than I do anywhere else in the city--and yes, I know you read this with surprise, but you will understand when I tell you what happened in the church on Palm Sunday. The church no longer feels like a sanctuary, and even the stalwart presence of the father comforts me only a little. I am, in truth, more terrified than I have ever been. A week ago last Sunday, a young cat of the church--one of the nekos, you'll remember--was murdered horribly, and in her will she asked Fr. Eamon to give her a Christian funeral. She was well on her way to the catechumenate, and Fr. Eamon agreed. Many in our parish mourned the young woman deeply. |
The father received word from the deceased's daughter that one of the woman's suspected murderers was planning an appearance at the funeral. The city's police were notified by the family of the deceased; many of her fellow cats made plans to stand watch as well. I could not attend due to parish duties in another part of the city, but from all accounts, the service started well, and the father and the attending mourners were able to make it through most of the requiem mass itself. Unfortunately, it was not long before the aforementioned suspect made an appearance, accompanied by other allies, and the funeral service spun rapidly into madness.
Oh, Reverend Mother. You cannot imagine. The woman's body was desecrated with violence. Her daughter was terribly injured, along with many others who fought hard to stop the intruders. Gas of some nature was released, and the father tried to save some of those in attendance, but a subsequent explosion and some sort of tranquilizers used by the monsters invading the church put the father out of the action. And... oh heavens, it is too terrible. The father and at least one other parishioner--there may have been more, but the father has not yet discovered the details--were kidnapped by the intruders and carried off into the night. And tortured. Yes. I do not know the fate of the young woman kidnapped with the father--Fr. Eamon would not speak of it, except to say that she survived--but the father himself has been grievously hurt. His face is battered--bruised and badly cut, his nose broken. His arm was broken as well. And when he asked for my help in changing his bandages, I found multiple lacerations to his back and a deep stab wound to his shoulder.
You may well ask who treated him initially. There are angels in Midian still--he was rescued by Guin, another catwalker, and two unnamed friends of the latter, and treated with expert medical attention as far as I can see. I was impressed with the care taken in his bandages and the setting of his arm, and you know how exacting a nurse I can be. Still, when I took my nurses' training, I did not expect to be tending to a priest. Perhaps God knew when he led me to that vocation how much it would be needed here in Midian, where the monsters are.
Everything has changed, Reverend Mother. The church has been badly damaged. I spent today cleaning the char marks from the stonework--which despite the explosion, still stands, as sturdy as ever, thank heavens--and cleaning up the shattered remains of the pews, the lectern, the broken glass from the windows (oh, that lovely stained glass!), the remnants of the burnt aisle runner... and the huge old Bible the father used at Mass. I found it, torn into pieces and stained with blood, buried beneath the ruins of the lectern. Until that moment, I had not cried, but I confess I did so then, kneeling in the midst of the chapel's destruction, the Bible's tattered pages pressed to my chest.
Praise God, the front of the church before the altar, the beautiful organ, the confessional and the holy water font--all of these are intact, so I thank God for the small favors we have. And we have not been idle with our sorrow--the church is slowly being cleaned, and the father is already making plans for repairing and replacing what we have lost. I attempted to contact one of the city's "suppliers" this afternoon, in fact, but no one was in--I shall try again tomorrow. So yes, we are working to fix what was broken, to replace what was stolen from us, but I fear there are some things that can never be truly healed. I pray and know that we must be strong, that we will come through this trial tempered by fire and greater for it in the end--as the father says, triumph is born of adversity. But I am so terribly afraid, Reverend Mother. The shadows seem longer inside the church, and despite my hard work at cleaning, I still see the ghosts of bloodstains on the floor, and the spaces were the pews once stood, where the beautiful Bible rested... they seem to mock me with their emptiness.
And the father... he has cloaked himself in darkness. He speaks little now--and he spoke little enough to begin with--but I find him now standing in silence in the middle of the night-dark church, his arm in a sling, his eyes seeming to burn in his battered face. Depression I could understand--this is a terrible thing that has happened to him--but it is not sadness I feel. It is anger I sense in his unreadable expressions, in the clench of his one good hand, and I cannot help wondering what will become of us all.
Pray for us, Reverend Mother.
Yours in Christ,
Sr. Lisbeth Dollinger
- Location:Zoe's Cafe
- Mood:
afraid
~ Proverbs 10:11
I returned to the church this evening to find an abattoir.
| I'm not sure which frightened me more: the long trail of blood drying on the runner down the center aisle, or the blood I could still smell on Fr. Eamon as he approached me from the altar. His coat and shirt were stiff with it; I could feel it beneath my fingers, tacky and revolting, when I reached out with shaking hands to touch him and convince myself that he was truly all right. Some of it had even marked his collar, drying like a tiny maroon flower against that square of former white. But it was not his, thank God in His mercy. The blood did not even belong to the same person. There was apparently a shooting at Mass today. Two women were shot, one unknown to us, the other a catwalker we know only on sight. The woman was quickly carried to the medical center, while Johnny and Elise, catwalkers of the parish, tended to the injured neko. |  |
Most horrible of all, however--it seems the woman who did the shooting was one of our regular parishioners. The father would tell me no more than that, and indeed, when I left him, he was on his way to the MPD to give his statement to the police. But things have come to a troubling pass indeed when our parishioners take to attacking each other even during the Mass.
That explained the blood on the carpet. As for the blood on the father himself, it seems my strange visitor from days before, Hilda, arrived again at the end of Mass, after all the other madness had died down. In the process of scaring the remaining parishioners, she... well, she apparently died. Right there, in the rear foyer of the church, vomiting a stream of blood on Fr. Eamon as she did so. Only to... well, it sounds fantastic, I know, but she came back to life immediately after. I have heard of such things, of course--the biomechs, for instance, can apparently be "brought back" as long as there is technology to do so (I will not get into my feelings on that here. Not now, not tonight, with the scent of blood still hanging so heavy inside the church). But Fr. Eamon also said he thought she'd been a neko once.
*shudders and crosses herself before continuing to write*
I asked what had become of her, and he said she'd fled the church shortly after... coming back, or whatever it was. Truth be told, the good father seems troubled and distracted, and I did not have the heart to pry further. Instead, I waited until Luci arrived from wherever she goes when she's not in the church, and the two of us busied ourselves with cleaning the blood from the floors.
And now I wait for news.
- Location:The Cloister
- Mood:
worried
"Compassion is the only one of the human emotions the Lord permitted Himself, and it has carried the divine flavor ever since."
~ Dagobert D. Runes
While praying the rosary this morning in the candlelit silence of the church, I heard the front doors open, and the hesitant, dragging step of some person making their way up the aisle. I did not look up at first, content to be pleased that I was sharing the church with another soul, but the wretched sound of its twisted limbs as it entered the space before a pew, and knelt on the cold stone floor, caused me to lift my head and seek out our visitor in the shadows. And what I saw both shocked and humbled me with horror.
A woman knelt there--or what might have been a whole woman once, or even a girl, as her age was impossible to determine, but what had once been mortal flesh was ravaged and ruined beyond my ability to comprehend. Her skin was pale and fleshy, ridged with lines and deep wrinkles, pouches of tumorous swellings and wounds that healed and opened, wept blood and then healed again. Some sort of scarf was wrapped around her neck, soaked with blood that dripped against her torso and left smears of dark crimson with her every swaying movement. That she was some sort of biomech, I had no doubt, as her limbs and the bald curve of her skull were augmented with cybernetic devices, the latter in the form of swaying, snake-like cables in a mockery of hair. They erupted from the reddened, oozing sores that dotted her scalp, scraping against the wooden pew at her back as she bowed her head and rubbed fretfully at her temples.
But her eyes... God in heaven. When I spoke to her, rising from my pew to approach and offer what trembling help I could, she turned eyes of black and fiery blue on mine... and for a moment, it was like staring into the pit of the eternally damned.
| I thought perhaps that she might have been one of the terrible experiments I'd heard tell of since arriving in this city--or worse, an escaped project of the Legion. Father Eamon told me with quiet fury in his eyes of what happened to the Catwalker's Matron. (He hides his anger well, and the Lord teaches us to forgive, but in my heart I know the UAC has made a bitter enemy of Fr. Eamon and the Parish.) The Legion's experiments seem to be of an altogether different nature, but who's to say what horrific new project those monsters have concocted now?! But no... with halting words and fractured speech, the girl told me her name was Hilda, and that she came from a ship--I'm assuming one on the ocean somewhere between Midian and the mainland, |  |
but even my best efforts at comforting this poor, tortured creature could coax forth no further information--or at least no information that made sense. She did not accept my offer of getting her to a doctor, and in truth, upon observation it seems her wounds have the uncanny ability to close on their own, although they reopen again from time to time, leaking blood as sluggish as syrup. But I hope and pray I see her again, and that somehow this tormented soul finds a place, and peace, in the shadowed streets of this haunted city. I will not sleep well tonight--I cannot stop thinking about her, or the horror that's been inflicted. And God forgive me, but my heart cannot help but cry out, Why? Are there truly no limits to the depth of our inhumanity? We create monsters... and so become monsters ourselves.
- Location:St. Michael's Church
- Mood:
"Remember, Man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return."
Last night I had the pleasure of speaking with Guin again, and it seems that--for the moment, at least--the strange case of the black-furred neko has been laid to rest. We shall see. She told me that the cat showed up after Mass again last Sunday, this time at the church before Fr. Eamon had departed the chapel. He had a folder of pictures and a recording of the conversation between Guin and Fr. Eamon after Mass from the previous Sunday--the same picture I saw, and the same recording he played for Guin at Fr. Eamon's quarters. As I noted in a previous entry, the conversation was an innocent one, so I'm not entirely sure what game the rogue cat thinks he's playing. But needless to say, it would seem that Fr. Eamon was less than impressed.
| According to Guin, however, it seems the cat's intent was to blackmail Fr. Eamon into helping the rogue get his hands on Elise, a pretty white catwalker and friend of the parish who was helped out of a difficulty some time ago by Fr. Zelenski. She has been a faithful attendee at Mass ever since, and while I do not know her as well as the fathers, by all accounts, she's a dear girl with a truly extraordinary gift--a sort of precognition or clairvoyance, if you will. Of course, Fr. Eamon flatly refused, attempted blackmail or no--especially considering the father has done nothing wrong and the cat's insinuations were groundless. The cat then made the mistake of trying to shift the blackmail to Guin, only to beat a hasty retreat, as Fr. Eamon was apparently close to losing his decidedly Irish temper. Ohhh, diary! I am laughing even now as I write this, wishing I could have been there to see the cat's reaction! But here is hoping that the cat has learned his lesson about threatening our priests. |  |
 | I saw my dear, sweet Gin the same evening, but our meeting was a troubling one. I have been thinking about him constantly ever since. We spoke of a relationship he has, with a woman outside his pride, and while my first thought was that Gin had fallen in love (and how wonderful if true!), the more he spoke, the more concerned I became. He does not speak like a man in love (or a cat in love, for that matter). So many of the "symptoms" are the same--an inability to think of anything else, a willingness to do anything and forswear all for the sake of the woman in question--but he spoke of feeling drugged in her presence, and cleaner somehow when he was away from her, as he was last night when we spoke together in the church. I'll confess, I'm not sure what to make of it. In another time or place, I might have chalked it up to nothing more than the |
| Today was Ash Wednesday, of course. I attended the quiet morning service with Fr. Eamon this morning, then wore my cross of ashes with mindfulness until sunset--which in Midian, is nothing more than a deepening of the ever-present gloom. But this afternoon, I was visited in the chapel by an officer of the MPD. No, not my other officer--this was Officer Jono, who wanted to ask me about the murder of the mysterious Mary Vilhemina. No one seems entirely sure who this woman was. Fr. Eamon was questioned as well, and he told me about it in brief, but it seems a woman was found murdered either in or near the church, a woman who may or may not have been a nun. If she was a nun, she was not a sister of our parish, which is strange in and of itself, as we have no record of a sister traveling alone in Midian City, as would be the usual protocol for such a case. But according to Officer Jono, the woman had attended Mass, as the remains of a communion wafer were found in her stomach during the autopsy. |  |
I answered the officer's questions as best I could, but I felt terrible--there was so little I could give her, and it was clear the officer was frustrated with the entire case. I will say prayers that God might help her and the other officers on the case, but especially Officer Jono, as from all accounts, she has been working hard trying to solve this mystery. I was able to help her somewhat with facts pertaining to another case--the selfsame floating, armored thing that had threatened little Nute in the chapel some nights past. But my heart breaks for that poor, lost woman found murdered in our parish. I will pray fervently that her murderer is found and brought to justice. And that Mary might find the peace in death that so eluded her in life.
Tonight, I return to the chapel to light a candle in her memory.
- Location:The Cloister
- Mood:
pensive
To that bad eminence."
~ John Milton, Paradise Lost
The past few days have been busy indeed at St. Michael's. I have been given much to think about, and I must admit, I scarcely know where to begin. I suppose I must start with a strange conversation I had approximately a week ago with Fr. Zelenski and one Delia Noel, the latter a member of the parish choir, and the selfsame woman who came to my aid the day the church was being abused by those... nun-things. Delia and I had been practicing music for Sunday Mass (although heaven help the girl, she had obviously been drinking, which made for an interesting practice, to say the least). But we were joined very shortly by Fr. Zelenski.
| As always, I greeted the father warmly and asked after his evening, but rather than the usual exchange of pleasantries, he showed Delia and I a hole in the hem of his robes, and explained that it was the result of a bullet passing through the fabric--and narrowly missing him. Of course, I was shocked--I know Midian City isn't safe, but I am still having difficulty accepting the fact that there are those who would shoot at our priests. But be that as it may... Of course, Delia and I wanted to know more, but the things the father had to tell me--I scarcely know where or how to begin, or what I should even believe. But he added weight to the rumors that there are, well... vampires, for lack of a better word, living behind the church. And strangest of all, I found myself believing it. I've had my suspicions, of course, and he is not the first to speak of such things--even Fr. Eamon has mentioned them a time or two. But it was always with an air of skepticism, and I confess, I didn't want to believe. |  |
 | The mystery of these creatures deepens. Speak of them in a public place, and the reactions are much as they would be at home, on the mainland. They are things of fairy, things of nightmare--but never real. Yet I met one who claimed to be such a thing, and Fr. Eamon seems to be suspicious of something, and then there was the conversation I had with Wolbert, not long ago. And now, Fr. Zelenski, who seemed convinced he was telling the truth. It is not my habit to doubt a priest--and I'll admit, in the candlelit dark of the church that night, with no one but the father and Delia for company, it was easy enough to fall under his spell, to believe as he did that such things exist, and that they mean us harm. God forgive me if I have done wrong, but I even offered to help the father in any way I could. Still, the next day, in the red light of Midian's dubious morning, it was harder to believe. The entire conversation seemed like a dream. And troubled in heart, I went to speak with Fr. Eamon. |
Fr. Eamon has ever been a comfort to me since arriving in Midian City. For all his occasional gruffness, he has always been unfailingly kind, and there is something soothing in that whiskey-rough voice when he speaks to those who come to him in need. I poured out everything to him at last--the stranger I'd met, Wolbert's troubling whispers, the strange tale of Fr. Zelenski--and he listened without comment until I was finished, his face grave but calm. And it was then he asked the one thing that turned all my surety to confusion.
How do you know it's true?
I must admit, I blinked at that--if I cannot trust a priest of the parish, our Fr. Zelenski, who can I trust?! Fr. Eamon waved that away, assuring me he didn't mean the other priest had been spreading untruths, but he cautioned me against jumping to conclusions. And the more we talked, the more I realized he was right. It was so strange, coming to this city and finding the catwalkers--something we'd heard about in my mainland home, but something as much a creature of legend as perhaps these vampires themselves. Yet here they are in Midian, living and loving and building their society in the labyrinth above our streets. Many of them come to Sunday Mass--we have opened our parish and our arms to them all. We have made dear friends among their kind. They are here. They are real. And I suppose, in accepting one reality, it made it so much easier to accept the possibility of others. Vampires... sin-eaters... heaven only knows what next.
But Fr. Eamon is right. Something is going on, but I should hold my tongue, reserve all judgment, and watch and wait. There is something rotten in the city of Midian, but I will do no good by feeding into a situation that may amount to nothing more than misguided hysteria. It is difficult, knowing who to trust, knowing what to believe, but I have my faith, and as Fr. Eamon so gently reminded me, adherence to the precepts of my faith will never steer me wrong. I will strive to emulate his quiet conviction.
Note to self: I must speak with Gin or one of the friendly catwalkers as soon as I can. Some strange feline followed Fr. Eamon's assistant, Guin, back to the father's apartment after Mass last Sunday. I stumbled upon him myself when I arrived there after visiting with a sick parishioner. Guin, wise girl, did not open the door, which made for a very strange conversation as she spoke through the window and I stared down the cat, but I could tell from the sound of her voice that she was shaken. The catwalker claimed to have news for the father "from the bishop," which was ridiculous, of course (heavens, the bishop would have simply called him), but he left shortly after my arrival, his news undelivered.
Guin let me in, and spoke with me. It seems the cat had seen Fr. Eamon and Guin talking after Mass, had taken pictures of them talking, and even went so far as to record part of their conversation. Now, I saw the picture, and it was innocent enough, and what little Guin could remember of the recording sounded quite innocent as well, but it appears the foolish cat was trying to blackmail Fr. Eamon (or possibly Guin herself) by implying that something inappropriate was going on. The utter ridiculousness of such an idea! Fr. Eamon, whatever his faults, is a fine and decent man, and Guin is a good girl in every sense of the word. I was beside myself with fury that this cat would not only follow Guin, but threaten her and frighten her with baseless accusations. And if I happen to find this fellow, he is going to get an earful.
Opportunistic idiot. The nerve.
Otherwise, the parish has been quiet--although the events recorded here are quite enough to go on. *sigh* Our Father in heaven, bless this parish with peace, and keep all your children safe.
- Mood:
~Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
I am taking supper inside the church this evening, and writing these words as I do. Normally I would wander down to the sushi bar for a breath of fresh air with my evening meal, but while out this afternoon, I saw what had become of the Sari-Mart. The doors have been closed off with yellow police tape, such as that which marks a crime scene, and the windows were shattered, the remaining shards of glass blackened with soot. I wandered close, shocked into silence, and peeked through those empty windows into the remains of the shop. Some terrible explosion went off inside, and the store is in shambles. There was no sign of Sari or any of her friends, and none of the neighboring bystanders could tell me much about what had happened--only that something had exploded inside it, and the shop was closed until further notice.
I do not know Sari as well as I would like, but in our few brief encounters, she has always been friendly to me. I pray most sincerely for her safety and well-being, and I hope to find some soul in this city who can tell me what has happened. And for now, I cannot eat at the sushi bar, not with the shattered ghost of the store watching me from across the street.
Inside the church? It is not much better.
Something happened yesterday evening, inside the church. I met with Guin and Luci today, and they told me what occurred. They had gone for supper, then returned to bring supper back for Father Eamon. While talking briefly inside the church, they were--well, I do not know if attacked is the right word, but accosted certainly works--by a strange man in a blindfold, with the tongue of a snake. Stranger still, he was accompanied by Gin--yes, Gin, my catwalker friend, and yes, they were all very quick to look askance at me with the mention of his name, since I have spoken often of how much I like him--and while Guin seemed very reluctant to directly accuse him, Luci was adamant that Gin and the snake-tongued stranger were there with some shared purpose. Most of the rest of the story came from Luci herself, as she loves to talk, bless the child, while Guin seemed oddly reluctant to pass judgment on the situation. (As an aside, I think this may have had more to do with Father Eamon's reaction than anything else. To say he is furious would be understating the truth.)
The altercation, or whatever it was, seemed to end with Father Zelenski arriving in the proverbial nick of time. He apparently shot the snake-tongued man (first Father Eamon, now Father Zelenski--WHERE is the Vatican finding these priests? In military special ops?!), then the stranger leapt through the window of the church, completely destroying a beautiful window of priceless stained glass. I'll admit, however, my concern was less for the window than for what happened to Gin. No one who was present seemed able to account for where he went, and except for Luci--who will keep jumping to conclusions--no one seems willing to associate him directly with the snake-tongued stranger. I wish so desperately that I had been there--everything I am hearing is frustratingly second-hand--but every mention of Gin's possible involvement wrenches at my heart.
I know what the others are thinking--that I'm a terrible judge of character--but surely I am not so innocent as that?!
Oh, diary. There are rumors of so many dreadful things surrounding our parish now--I keep hearing rumors of exorcisms (in this day and age?!), of lunatic priests, and even darker things--things I dare not give name, lest writing them down somehow make them real. I pray to God every day for strength, but I am so weary of being afraid. And if these things are coming inside our church, wreaking havoc in this shaky haven, what will happen to the children in our care? Our mice, and Avon, and Luci...
Father Eamon told me this afternoon that he wants me to consider carrying a weapon, and learning how to use it. I stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. A nun? Carrying a weapon? But he was serious. And the more I think on it, the more I pray, the more I wonder if he might be right. He said he would teach me, and I trust him, but my God... it flies in the face of everything I believe in. Peace and love and charity--could I use such a thing, even in the defense of my own life? In the defense of those in my care? I do not think I could, but then I look at our beautiful church mice, with their sweet faces and gentle questions... I hear Luci's bright laughter... see the playful twitch of Avon's tail... and I wonder. I wonder. What wouldn't I do to keep these small ones safe?
- Location:The Church Kitchen
- Mood:troubled
I met Father Zelenski again today, our first real meeting since our accidental encounter, and we ended up speaking at length. I find him to be a pleasant man, very kind and warm and solicitous of my well-being and those I serve. He introduced me as well to a new priest, recently arrived in Midian. I believe his name was Father Quinnell, but he spoke very little and spent most of my conversation with Father Zelenski standing behind him, slightly to one side, and watching us both. I'll confess, it made me a little uneasy, but I have no real reason for this. I suppose I have simply become too used to Father Eamon, who seems to enjoy talking with me, and with Father Zelenski for immediate comparision (as I said, a pleasant priest with an amiable disposition), the other priest's silence seemed passing strange.
Father Zelenski wished to know how much I knew of the parish's history. I told him, of course, that Father Eamon had filled me in on much of it, although there is ALSO much he refused to tell me. God bless the man, but he's overprotective to a fault. Father Zelenski seems equally cautious, however, and when I told him Father E had nearly tried to get me on a boat back to the mainland (this after he'd told me that I was alone, the only active nun of Midian parish), Father Z agreed. Oh heavens, I could kiss them both and shake them silly besides. God sent me here for a purpose, and I will not run away. Yes, I know it is dangerous for me here, but sister nuns or not, I'm hardly alone. I have made friends in this city--kind souls like Gin--and while I would never be so foolish as to think myself protected, it's not as if I've been cast into this vipers' nest alone. I have the priests. I have my faith. Pray God it will be enough.
As a brief aside, I am considering forming a choir for our church. We have very few parishioners, and the church has been locked in a process of decay for so long, there is no one to lead the music for the Mass. Father Eamon has been doing a beautiful job of filling in with chant--which I love, for purely selfish reasons, and he has a lovely, deep baritone well-suited for such. But I know he longs for a proper choir, so I may present the idea to him and the other priests in hopes of their approval. I have a solid background in liturgical music; I think I would do well with this. And it would be good for the church, for a multitude of reasons--no less as an open expression of our plans for stabilizing the parish.
BUT... enough seriousness for the moment. I do have one other thing to write, then I must return to cleaning this *sigh* empty cloister. Something marvelous and delightful happened today, and I simply must write about it. At one point yesterday, Father E returned from his walk and was actually grinning, and anyone who knows him would KNOW that a grin on that man's face is practically unheard of. I couldn't help smiling in return, and I asked after his mood. He then told me the strangest story.
While down at the waterfront, he was approached by two mice. Yes, MICE. Mice-women, to be exact, not unlike the catwalkers--except, of course, mice as opposed to cats. He said they were "bonny things," as he puts it, all in white and pure white themselves--sisters and twins, unless he missed his guess. They asked him how he felt about "church mice," and explained that they were looking for shelter. They were also very quick to offer their services for cleaning and maintaining the chapel. And after he got over his initial surprise (not to mention his apparent amusement), he invited them both to make the church their home.
So... it appears we have church mice! *laughs* I met them this afternoon myself, and a more darling pair of girls I cannot imagine.
I also met a friend of Father E's, from the mainland. Her name is Guin, and she's equally charming. Father Eamon has mentioned her a time or two before, mostly in passing, but I gathered from his comments that she's a good friend from his past. She was very warm, and I liked her a lot. I hope to see her again. I am so glad she came to Midian as well, for she seems to know Father Eamon well, and it would appear they are very close. I try, of course, but he broods SO much, it gladdens me to know he has someone to talk to, someone to confide in. Between his friend Guin and our new little mice, maybe the man will start smiling more often!
- Location:The Choir Loft
- Mood:delighted
~Cervantes, Don Quixote (Book IV, pt. I, ch. X)
Oh diary. Sometimes I think my heart speaks truer in these pages than it does on my knees in prayer, as if here, in this secret place, I would write my letters to God. So much has happened since last I wrote, I'm not even sure where to begin, but I must write something, if only to pour my troubled thoughts on paper so they might make some sort of sense. For all the sin and vice one finds in this city, the horror and heartache and hurt, it is nothing compared to the terrible crimes being done within sight of our church, by those who would claim to honor Christ through the blasphemy of their actions.
And I am afraid. We are so few in this parish, and the night outside so very deep.
Not long before Christmas, I was in the church, getting the chapel ready for the midnight Christmas Mass, when Father Eamon entered from the street. It is not so unusual for him--he often walks the city after dark, and has no fear of what he might find--but the look on his face was haunted, even for him. I had promised myself that the next time I saw him, I would not shrink from his blacker moods, and I went to him with the intent of asking him what was wrong and if there was anything I could do. To my surprise, he asked to speak with me first, and drew me into the quiet of the standing-room beside the doors.
He had come from a meeting with Father Zelenski. Father Z, as many of the parishioners call him, is the monk I mentioned in an earlier entry. I have not had the opportunity to speak with him further, but Father Eamon has, as well as one of the young street children, Luci, who has taken to frequenting the church. Their joint opinion seems to be that he is a good priest--albeit stiffer, perhaps, than Father Eamon, who for all his brooding and darker moods is nevertheless a relaxed sort of priest with a reasonable sense of humor. Father Z met with Eamon while he was taking care of an injured girl (named Noel) who had sought sanctuary within the church, and after Father Eamon saw to her needs and put her to bed in the community center, he accompanied Father Z for a walk down by the waterfront.
And there, Father Z told Father Eamon the history of Midian parish.
( Father Z's Tale )
( Rogue Priests )
( Gin )
- Location:The Cloister
- Mood:troubled
Every man for himself, his own ends, the devil for all.
~Robert Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy (pt. III, sec. I, memb. III)
On another one of my daily walks, I grew a little chilled and ducked into the community center to warm my hands before their fire. The community center is a remarkably pleasant place right beside the church, easily accessed from the side yard of the chapel itself. It appears to cater mostly to the catwalkers--or more specifically, those of a feline persuasion who are, for whatever reason, alone in the city without shelter of their own. I have seen humans using the facility, however. Based on who I have seen there, I would say the kind soul who maintains it is welcoming to all. "Auntie" is what they call her, I believe, although I have yet to meet the lady. Father Eamon has, and he found her personable enough, although he admits his interaction with her was brief.
But back to the community center itself: It is a warm, brightly lit place, with a comfortable common room and a fire, food and snacks, clean bunks, and even a spacious bathroom with a shower. I have visited several times since arriving in Midian, and even availed myself of the shower when a recent power outage in the city left the cloister without running water. The community center appears to be connected to a generator, thank heavens. All in all, the place is clean and bright, comfortable and welcoming, and I try to direct people there when I can. Many in Midian come to the church in need, but it is one thing to bring desperation to the doorstep of the Lord. I think they feel safer somehow--which is only as it should be--but it is easier to fall on God's charity than the charity of one's fellow man.
I wish more would go there, though. It hurts me to think of these young ones, alone in the cold.
The community center also functions as a meeting place of sorts, an oasis that seems to lure many of Midian's most interesting people. While warming my hands before the fire, I met a young parishioner whose name, sadly, escapes me at the moment (I think it was AG, but I would not swear to that). She was pleasant to speak with, although the great many guns she carried on her person gave me a moment's pause, but it is a sight I am becoming used to in this city. Shortly after her arrival, we were joined by a man named Guiseppe... who MUST be, without a doubt, the tallest man I've ever seen! I couldn't contain my surprise, but he was wonderfully good-humored about it, and after AG(?) departed, we had a short but lovely conversation.
He's a bit of a flirt, but nothing at all like Officer R of the MPD, thank goodness, and although he told me something about a frankly terrible nun from his past (and a thoroughly inappropriate incident in a confessional booth), he said it with such humor, with such a mischievous glint in his eye, that I can only hope he was teasing in hopes of getting a rise out of me. If it WAS true, well... it would certainly explain a lot about the degeneration of Mother Church in this dark and decadent age. No wonder so many Midianites seem surprised and taken aback by my presence here. I sometimes wonder if it is that surprise that has protected me for so long, and continues to protect me still. Anyone who might do me harm is thrown completely out of sorts when faced by the nun in the midst. *laughs*
- Location:Zoe's Cafe
- Mood:
pleased
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