--Prochaine station, Sherbrooke. It wasn't until I heard the voice of the metro announce the next station that I realized I had stepped on the wrong train. It had been the train to Henri-Bourassa we had taken to Sei's place the previous day, and without thinking about it this morning I had gotten for the train going to Henri-Bourassa, not to Côté-Vertu. --Station Sherbrooke. I got off the train and walked up the steps to cross the crosswalk Impossible to miss as I walked down the steps to the Côté-Vertu platform was a large mosaic, in which a man in a loincloth--Christ, I supposed--stood before a cross, inspiring artists painting his picture, patriots waving a Quebec flag, people dressed in what I recognized as college graduation garb from American movies, and what looked like surveyors, taking his image as inspiration for what they planned to build. On the wall was a plaque announcing who had been depicted in the mosaic: PREMIER BANQUET DE LA SOCIÉTÉ NATIONALE DES CANADIENS FRANÇAIS LE DEFILÉ DE LA SAINT-JEAN SAINT-JEAN LE BAPTISTE PATRON DU CANADA FRANÇAIS LE MONUMENT NATIONAL LES FEUX DE LA ST-JEAN L'ENSEIGNEMENT DES ARTS LIBÉRAUX LE PRET D'HONNEUR So it was not Christ, but Saint John the Baptist. Of course. Sei had told me he was a patron saint of French Canada. I looked again. The cross was rather a walking stick shaped as a cross. For John the Baptist had not been crucified, had he? Rather beheaded and his head served to Salome on a dish. I turned around to look again at the mosaic, to find a young Asian woman standing there, a tote bag in her hand, looking up at the mosaic herself. She was about Sei's age and height; she dressed well but simply, a white blouse under her raincoat and a simple black skirt going down to her ankles. Her dark hair was cut short, shorter than Sei's, in spite of the fact she didn't look like a boy at all; rather her features were those of a beautiful noblewoman of the sort one reads about in the Tale of Genji. Perhaps one who had already renounced the world. Before turning away from Saint John the woman made the sign of the cross. -- Les filles du lys de la montagne, chapter four A Maria-sama ga miteru (Marimite) fanfic by Paul Corrigan Marimite concept devised by Oyuki Konno -- --Hé, toé! Ta blonde s'est levée! --Hein? Déjà? --Déjà? C'est huit heures, déjà! Envoye, lève-toé pis rend-móe mon sofa! Bouge! When I came downstairs that morning Sei was still on the couch where she'd slept that night. On noticing me coming into the living room Madeleine rose from her chair at the kitchen table where she'd been having breakfast, and went over to Sei to shake her and cajol her (I guessed) to her feet. Sei sat up, greeting me in Japanese with: --Morning, Shimako. You sleep okay? --Yes, thank you...how are you feeling this morning? --Like shit. In fact Sei didn't look very well, her eyes bleary and bloodshot. The club clothes she had worn the previous night looked like it. I turned to Madeleine to ask as best I could in French: --Sei...elle va bien? --Of course she's all right! replied Madeleine in English. She does this every weekend. Come on! Get up! she barked at Sei, thumping her lightly with the pillow Sei had been using last night. I told you a thousand times, don't sleep on my sofa! --Shimako was in my bed. I had to sleep somewhere... --Last week your girlfriend wasn't here and you slept on the sofa anyway. Come on, get up! --She's not my girlfriend... --Move! Madeleine must have been trying to sound harsh, but she didn't really sound much harsher than a mother trying to get a reluctant, whiny child out of bed and ready for school. Certainly Madeleine wasn't so annoyed as to be unable to turn to me and ask with the sort of apologetic smile the mother might wear: --I'm sorry, Shimako. Do you want some breakfast? In fact I have never liked breakfast, and I rarely eat before noon. --No, thank you, I replied. --Are you sure? replied Madeleine, with a conspiratorial smile on her lips. I thought Sei wanted to show you the whole of Montreal today! --Just say yes, all right? put in Sei in Japanese. She wants someone to talk to, and I'm not gonna be any use... --Que c'est que tu lui racontes, toé? asked Madeleine suspiciously. --J'ai dit que tu veux jaser pis y te faut une nouvelle victime, said Sei, able, weak as she was, to manage one of her evil grins. --Comment! Envoye, said Madeleine, thumping Sei again, lève-toé! --Okay, okay, simonac! answered Sei, rubbing her face with her hands before finally getting to her feet. --Are you sure you're all right? I asked her. --I'll live. Madeleine's right, I do this all the time. I'm usually fine by lunchtime...anyway, I didn't think we'd be heading to McGill much before lunchtime. What are you doing up so soon? You got what? Five hours of sleep? --Eight o'clock's late for me. It's an hour from Shoguji to Lillian in the morning... --Oh. Right. Yeah, I remember that routine... Having reclaimed her sofa, Madeleine did not actually sit on it for now, but returned to the kitchen to resume her breakfast. Sei sat back down on the arm of the sofa. --So. What do you wanna do? You wanna go to McGill right away? Or... --Well, I had actually thought this morning would be a good time to go to Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. If that's all right... --Oh. Right. Might as well get that out of the way. Mother Superior'll kick your ass if you don't go, eh? Sei chuckled at her own joke, then grimaced and rubbed her temples. --Right. I'll take some aspirin, splash some water on my face, I should be good to go... --Actually, Sei... --Hm? --If you're really not feeling well, I can go on my own. We could meet at lunch, when you're feeling better. Would that be all right? It's at Champ-de- Mars station, right? Sei looked a little surprised, not to say skeptical. --Well, no, it's not right there. You'd have to walk a ways...You sure you wanna go by yourself? I'll come with you to Bon-Secours, I've survived worse than this... --It's fine. If I get lost I'll ask. I'm a big girl, you know, Sei. I can look after myself for a couple of hours. I had said that to tease her, not to mention I had thought too that Sei would be relieved at being excused from having to go. As it was, though, she hesitated, as if trying to think of some objection. Finally she smiled, chuckled and answered: --Guess you're better at it than me. She stood up, adding: --Okay. We can have lunch in Chinatown. You wanna meet up at Champ-de-Mars--I dunno--12:30? We can go to McGill after that. Unless you want to meet earlier... --No, that's fine. We have all day really, right? --Yeah. McGill's not going anywhere, I guess... --Shimako? Sei? called Madeleine from the kitchen. Do you want breakfast or shall I eat it all? --J'veux pas déjeuner, Madeleine. J'vais en haut, all right? Shimako, I'll be upstairs, okay? Sei did not go directly upstairs, going instead to the bathroom, to look, I suspected, for aspirin. I was a bit intimidated by the sight of the table when I entered the kitchen. No wonder Sei had complained about putting on weight. Madeleine Cadieux's table was laid out with bacon, sausage, eggs and buttered toast, far more than two people would be wise to regularly eat on their own, I was sure. Then again, Madeleine had been eating on her own before I came down. It wouldn't have surprised me if she had been able (and willing!) to eat all that without my help. --Just a cup of coffee, please, I said as well as I could. --You don't want to eat? said Madeleine. All you want is coffee? --Yes, please. --Not even milk? she said, picking up a bottle. --No, thank you. Madeleine shrugged, poured me some coffee and sat back down to her breakfast. I found myself saying with a bow before I sat down, as if Sei had been my own child: --Thank you very much for looking after Sei. I heard the toilet flush, and then the sound of Sei heading upstairs. --Don't worry! said Madeleine, dismissing the remark with a wave of her hand. She's the best tenant I've ever had. Having her sleep on the sofa's a small price to pay, eh? she added, looking in the sofa's direction. I'm lucky, you know? You don't want to know what I've seen on that sofa when I come downstairs in the morning...that's why I don't let men into this house any more. My husband was bad enough, I should have learned my lesson, eh? --Is it okay? That I am here? Madeleine looked surprised that I would ask anything of the kind. --Of course it is. You're Sei's friend. Why wouldn't it be? --Sei said...you do not like her...bringing people here. Madeleine's surprise took on a hint of annoyance. --Did she say that? I didn't say that. Girls I don't mind. I just didn't want her bringing boys here at night. But she doesn't like boys, so...girls are okay. --Do you like it here? --Where? --In the Village? Madeleine's expression darkened visibly. --The gay Village? Listen, this is my mother's house, and it was her house before all those gay people started showing up, all right? She left it to me and I'm not leaving it until I die. And there are rich tapettes who'd kill for this house, I know that well. You know? Well, they'll have to kill me, because I'm not leaving alive! --Tapettes? --Queers. Gay guys. You know? --But Sei is... --You don't know what it's like. You wake up in the night and hear a couple of men doing you know what or you come downstairs and two men are on your sofa naked like your living room was a...anyway, I don't want to rent to them any more, but I can't say no just because I know they're gay, they'd take me to court, you know, so I don't rent to any men at all. It doesn't matter I don't mind girls. Girls are okay. Sei's okay. She's quiet. She pays her rent on time, we talk, she helps me with the bills...What? You don't think I make her big breakfasts for nothing, do you? --You speak very good English, I said, trying to change the subject. I had meant it as a compliment, but Madeleine sniffed, as if I had been patronizing her. --Of course I speak English! Before I got married I had to work for some fat English jerk in Westmount who didn't speak any French, you know. And he wasn't going to learn French so he could speak to me, okay? In those days you wanted a job at all, you spoke English. Anyway, you don't speak French in Japan, right? --No... --Right!...But this jerk lives in Montreal all his life and won't speak French, you know? Then one day finally the French people in Quebec say, that's it, you have to let people speak French at work. And this guy--I didn't work for him any more, I was married by then, it was in the paper--this guy sells his house and moves to Toronto because he said he didn't want to speak French. I said, fine, go to hell, you big jerk!...Anyway, Sei's not like that. Sei's great, you know? She says to me, speak to me in French. I said, I speak English, if you want to learn how to speak French, you can take lessons, right? She says no, they'll teach her how to speak like in Paris, she wants to speak the French they speak in Quebec. Except she calls it le français royal. --Le français royal? --Yes! The French of the kings of France! And she knew that! I thought, all right, can't say no to that, right? So I talk to her in French and she learns French (Madeleine snapped her fingers) like that. --It's hard...you sound different...they do not sound like you in my class... --What? If it's fine for King Louis it's fine for me, its good enough for an old Montreal woman, eh? So, anyway... Or Lady Oscar, I thought. Madeleine took a bite of her eggs, and went on: --So...really, are you her girlfriend? --No, I replied. We were just friends. At school. --All right. Madeleine looked rather sceptical. She took a sip of her own coffee, and added: --Could have fooled me, eh. You're the first person she's brought here, you know...In fact you don't know, do you? She's talked about nothing but you for weeks and weeks. She said--so you want to be a nun, eh? A Catholic nun? I covered my mouth for a moment, trying to stifle an embarrassed laugh, and replied: --No, not now...She told you I want to be a nun? --She told me all about you. She really liked it, you wanting to be a nun. Maybe that's the sort of girl she likes, eh? Madeleine laughed. She had obviously meant it as a joke, but I felt myself beginning to blush all the same. Madeleine must have seen, because she went on: --But I guess not, eh? --Well...when I was very young...I want to be a Catholic nun. I tell my father...and he sent me to Sei's school. --Just like that? asked Madeleine, looking quite taken aback. I wasn't quite sure how to explain in English, so I just said: --My father is very nice. --Hm...okay...I just thought you Japanese were all Buddhists, or something. You know? --My father is a Buddhist. I was a child...it was silly... --No, it's not silly. When I was little I wanted to be a nun too. Lots of little girls did. You know...wear the outfit, teach little kids, pray to God all day...you know? Of course I didn't, either...but your father said okay? --Yes...he knew I was a child, I think. I don't know... --Okay...because...let me tell you a story, okay? Madeleine had finished her food. She took a sip of her coffee and went on: --When I was in high school my class went on--oh, what's the word?--I want to say retraite--my whole class went together with the nuns to Sainte-Agathe for a week. In the Laurentides--the mountains, north of here. Did Sei tell you about them? --Yes... --She should take you. It's real nice there. --Okay...maybe I will ask. --So anyway, it was like a vacation. From reality I think...anyway...I was fifteen, I felt like I...something was missing. I wanted to be close to God...or nature...or maybe a boy. Probably a boy... She laughed before going on: --What? I was a girl like you, right? Younger than you. Anyway, I was in Sainte-Agathe with all my friends, it was lovely, I feel good, and one day, at the end of the week, one of the nuns comes to me and says, Miss Cadieux, did you ever think about wanting to be a nun? Think about it. Let me tell you, it was great being asked that, that the nuns thought I was good enough for that. When I came home I was in heaven! But then... --What happened? --My father thinks I'm sick, because I was so happy I wouldn't eat! That was weird, you know. Because in my family we all liked to eat. I still like to eat, you know? You can see that, right? Madeleine gestured to indicate her plump figure, and went on: --And he says what happened? And I told him I wanted to be a nun... --He did not want that? Madeleine stared at me as if I'd lost my senses. --Of course not! He didn't want his only daughter to be a nun! --But...I thought it was an honour...to be a nun... Madeleine laughed derisively. --What, are you joking? He said the only reason they wanted me to be a nun because I was pretty and the nuns liked pretty girls. "It's always the smart ones and the pretty ones!" he said. And I was, too! I was a bit big even then, but not that big, and some boys like that, right? My husband did, in the beginning. Then I got big like this and he ran off, the jerk...Anyway, I was smart too. I was the first in my family to go to high school, you know that? I could have gone to university too, but we didn't have the money, it cost too much then...see the world, too, like you and Sei, maybe even Japan, eh? All those temples. I've seen them on TV--say, Sei told me, does your family have a temple or something? --Yes...it's called Shoguji. --What? --Sho-gu-ji, I repeated, drawing out each syllable. In the country... --Must be really pretty out there. Trees, mountains...like Sainte-Agathe. You should go, eh? Maybe you'll think it's like Japan!...Anyway, I wanted to go to college too, but I knew I couldn't because we weren't rich. Dad said, it's okay, go to high school and you can marry a college boy, right? They don't want to marry dummies. And I did. He was a jerk, but he was smart. Made okay money too. Then I say we should go to the Orient, but he wouldn't go...Anyway, thing was, that was Mom's idea, me going to high school. All her friends said, "Mrs. Cadieux, what are you wasting money like that, sending her to high school? She's just going to get married!" Madeleine rested her forehead on her hands a moment, resuming her story: --But oh my God...I thought he was going to go look for the nuns and kill them all! --Like Sei? --What? --You said the nuns like pretty girls... Madeleine hesitated a moment before answering: --Yeah, like Sei. Me, I don't know, but my father said they like pretty girls. Except you don't want to know what else he said about them, all right?...Awful things about what he thought they wanted to do to me. So horrible I started crying...anyway, my mother finally told him to shut up, he wouldn't understand! Men are perverts, you know? And Mom comes in to my room and holds my hand, and she asked, do you really want to be a nun? I didn't say anything, I just wanted her there. Because...she didn't actually like nuns very much either, but she was a girl. She did understand, you know?... --Do you want to be a nun now? --Pardon? Said Madeleine, a little surprised by the question. Do you mean would I want to be a nun now? --Yes... --Hmm... Madeleine took a long sip of her coffee, suddenly looking a little sad. --I don't know...I mean, I never did anything about it. It was just a dream. You know? Like a little girl wants to be a ballet-dancer or something, because they all wear pretty dresses, right? Then when she grows up she doesn't think about that any more. I don't know, I think I just wanted the pretty dress. Because they still wore their--oh, what's the word?--they still wore those costumes nuns wear in the movies, right? Not like now, wearing ugly sweaters they got at the St-Vincent-de-Paul, smoking cigarettes...really butch... --Butch? I asked. --Yeah, butch! Like a man, you know! Though, Madeleine added, with a conspiratorial smirk, I tell Sei that, and she says, "Hey, I'm butch," and I say to her, you're young and pretty! She looks like a cute boy, eh? The nuns they look like ugly old men! Ugh! Who the hell wants to look like that? Madeleine suddenly laughed. --But anyway, whenever I used to fight with my husband, I'd say, I shouldn't have gotten married at all, I should have been a nun! -- Madeleine was inexhaustible, it seemed, willingly telling me much more of Montreal and how life was there, today and when she was young, sometimes sad, sometimes funny too. If I had let her, she probably could have continued all day--and would--but I had to be off at some point. I finally managed to excuse myself from Madeleine's breakfast table after two cups of coffee. I went into Sei's room to fetch my bag to take to the bathroom so I could wash and dress there. Sei was in her bed, her back turned to me as I went in. I was as quiet as I could, but still Sei turned around to look at me. --That you, Shimako? --Yes...did I wake you? --No...you taking off, then? --Just as soon as I wash, yes... --Okay. I've got an umbrella downstairs. You can borrow it if you like. --Thank you. Sei propped herself up in the bed, smiling apologetically, and added: --Shimako...thanks for dragging my ass home last night. I appreciate it. I'm really sorry about all this... --Don't mention it any more, Sei, really. I understand. I'll see you at lunch, okay? --Say...Shimako? asked Sei, looking suddenly more serious. --Yes? --I remember saying some crazy stuff last night...you aren't mad, are you? --What? Why? Because I said I wanted to go to Bon-Secours on my own? You were drunk. Drunk people say all sorts of things. Don't worry about it any more... --I guess I mean...Shimako, I didn't do anything stupid last night, did I? --No, why? Sei smiled again, shook her head and said: --Never mind...have fun, eh? -- MERDE IL PLEUT It wasn't until I got outside and opened Sei's umbrella that I realized what it said. I had to laugh. It was just like her to have an umbrella like that. I walked up rue Panet past the memorial and onto rue Sainte-Catherine towards Beaudry station. It was a rather drab day, making the Village look as worn and tired as Sei, the threatening and absurd names of the stores now looking merely absurd. I saw few people on the street on a weekday morning. At Beaudry station a man was standing outside the SAQ du Village, waiting for it to open. It was the beggar who had accosted us the previous night. I walked into the station and down the stairs, showed the attendant my card and stepped on the moving sidewalk. It could not have taken more than a minute or so to get to the bottom, but it felt like I was descending for an eternity. -- II -- --Station Champ-de-Mars. I had said nothing to the woman at Sherbrooke station, and she had said nothing to me. At Champ-de-Mars she got out first, and I followed her up the stairs. When I reached the top I thought for a moment I had emerged into the chapel. The south and west walls of Champ-de-Mars station were made entirely of stained glass, banners of red and yellow cut by flourishes of purple, blue, green and white. It probably would have been dazzling in every sense had the weather been a bit better that day; as it was, it was one of the most beautiful pieces of stained glasswork I had ever seen. Perhaps I wasn't in a church, after all, but the glass would have done any church honour. Even the railing, designed to keep the unwary from falling onto the tracks below, couldn't help but make me think of a pew. I looked around, admiring the stained glass for a few moments, long enough that when I turned around the woman from Sherbrooke station had gone. It occurred to me I didn't really know where I was going. I approached the metro attendant, a large, moustached Canadian man well into middle age, sitting in his booth reading the Journal de Montréal and looking bored. --Excuse me, sir...I asked him. --Yes? --Where is Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours? The attendant put down his paper, gave a deep sigh, as if he had long since tired of answering questions from tourists, and replied in a thick Canadian accent, pointing towards the right-hand door: --Okay, you go out the door then go right, you know, then through the tunnel. Then you go up the hill on rue Gosford, you know, to Château Ramezay, then down the hill to Marché Bonsecours. That's the big building with the dome, you know? The street is rue Saint-Paul. Then you turn left. You can't miss it, okay? --Thank you. --You're welcome, said the attendant, returning to his paper. I couldn't help noticing an ATM just by the door. Another OSCAR. This one had a picture of a man and woman sharing an apple, with the caption OSEZ SÉDUIRE -- A freeway separates Vieux-Montréal from the rest of the city. Crossing the bridge to the tunnel felt like crossing a frontier with all the nervousness that gave me when I had gone to Italy, and when I had come here. The tunnel was dark as the station itself had been bright, and neglected; the escalator was out of order and looked like it had been for some time. I walked quickly through the tunnel, looking behind me every few seconds, only to be greeted at the very end by a beggar, an odd-smelling cigarette smouldering by his side. He said nothing to me as I passed, not even to ask for change. I opened the door, and stepped out into the old city. I started up the hill. On the hill I saw two fine old buildings, one flying a white flag with emblems in each of the quadrants; a rose, a thistle, a shamrock, and a fleur-de-lis; public buildings of some kind, I supposed. Below them both was a small treeless field, run through by a sort of ditch lined with stone. At the top of the hill was Château Ramezay, which turned out to be a museum. As I started down it really was impossible to miss Marché Bonsecours' silver dome. At first blush I thought rue Saint-Paul looked as it must have long ago; the street was cobbled, with antique street-lamps and trees, now just turning yellow, lining the sidewalk, and the Marché itself, built of stately grey stone like the buildings on the hill, the façade just below the dome with classical columns, topped by a coat of arms with the same device as the white flag, and a name that looked as it might have in Queen Victoria's day: MARCHÉ BONSECOURS. Across the street from the Marché were house fronts in grey stone, long since converted to shops, with colourful names like Tant qu'il y aura des fleurs and Saveurs de Provence. Just out front of the Marché somebody had placed a hot-pink sign with black letters reading GRANDE BRADERIE DE MODE QUÉBÉCOISE. Sei had complained that it was a poor imitation of Paris? This was how I had always thought a street in Paris would look, as it would have looked in a story book, or perhaps, in Rei's comics. Would Marguerite Bourgeois have recognized this place? Perhaps not; her Montréal was very primitive. I remembered that much from school. But Lady Oscar might, perhaps. I couldn't help but think of Rome too, how Yumi would have cheerfully dragged me into every clothes store in the city, begging to know if I could tell her which dress or hat made her look cuter. It was now I started wishing she had been there to drag me into la Grande braderie de mode québécoise, possibly insisting on trying on ever single beaver cap and fur coat in the place. She could not have afforded to buy a single one, probably, but that wasn't the point of course; I had let her drag me to drag me out of myself. As it was, there weren't many tourists here either that morning braving the drizzle on an autumn day. I couldn't help feel a bit of melancholy. I would like to say it was the rain, but I don't think so--I should have been pleased to have Vieux-Montréal all to myself as it were--but...someone once said God created man because he needed someone else to share the beauty of creation. I shook myself. Perhaps having others around merely helped me shake me out of my melancholy. The attendant had been right. The bell tower of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, of copper long since turned green with patina, was clearly visible on the corner (of course) of Rue Bonsecours. As I approached, I could see at the back of the church a large statue of Our Lady, also in green patina, her arms outstretched towards the Saint-Lawrence River beyond. On the side of the church was hung a large sign reading TRAVERSEZ PLUS DE 2000 ANS DE NOTRE HISTOIRE. MUSÉE MARGUERITE-BOURGEOYS CHAPELLE NOTRE-DAME-DE-BON-SECOURS I tried the door. Locked. I had come a bit too early. What to do? Across the street from Bon-Secours were a self-styled Artisanat Canadien, and a restaurant Filles du Roy. I stepped into the Artisanat Canadien. It turned out to be a souvenir shop of the nicer sort, nice enough I took shelter inside for a few minutes. (I had seen plenty of the nastier sort in Rome to want to give them a clear berth.) Inuit sculptures, lily flowers (fleurs-de-lis, of a sort) made of leather, and cards with American Indian designs. One card, depicting a goose with her goslings, was named "Mother and Child." I decided to get it for Father. I couldn't help but notice as well a can containing a small toy polar bear, reading: CANNED POLAR BEAR CAUTION: THESE POLAR BEARS HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO LIE IN WAIT UNDER YOUR COVERS AND SNUGGLE YOU TO SLEEP. I had to giggle. Very well, I thought. Yumi will get her polar bear after all! I paid for the gifts, left the shop and returned to the door of Bon-Secours. Just above the door of the chapel were another mother and child, Our Lady with the Christ Child in her arms, both gold-plated, and the inscription SI L'AMOUR DE MARIE EN TON COEUR EST GRAVÉ EN PASSANT NE T'OUBLIE DE LUI DIRE UN AVE What could a student of Lillian Academy do, but salute Our Lady wherever she saw her, not least when she had been specifically directed to do so? I put my hands together, bowed my head and said a Hail Mary as I had been taught. --Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners... I was distracted just then by the noise of the wooden doors being unbarred. I looked up to see a young man, dressed in the costume of a New French colonist of the 17th century, opening the door of the sanctuary. He obviously guessed I was a tourist, because he greeted me with: --Bonjour, pèlerine. -- The chapel was brightly lit up even on this cloudy day, light-coloured pews, perhaps of pine. Before my eyes, dominating the wall behind the altar, was a beautiful depiction of her Assumption into heaven. I dipped my hand into the font of holy water as I had been taught, made the sign of the cross, and walked in. At the back of the chapel were brochures in English, French, even one in Japanese. I took one of the French prayer cards and walked up the aisle, looking from side to side as I walked up the aisle. On the right were stained glass depictions of scenes from the life of Christ: his birth, his presentation at the temple in Jerusalem, the flight of the Holy Family into Egypt, his preaching in the Temple as a boy. On the left were parallels from the life of his mother: her birth, her presentation at the temple by Ste. Anne and St. Joachim, her parents, her marriage to St. Joseph, the Annunciation. On the ceiling above the altar was a painting of Mary's being crowned queen of heaven. Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours was Our Lady's house, as much as it was her Son's. When I saw the chapel at Lillian for the first time in junior high school, and ever after, even on happy occasions like the Maria Festival, I always found it dark and sombre, only barely lit up by the stained glass windows even on a bright summer day. It was bare too: aside from the stained glass and the crucifix over the altar, there was nothing, save a statue of Our Lady, looking most out of place in her Son's house. I did not find it so odd, once I had been at Lillian Academy a while; the school as a whole was just as bare, even the Rose Mansion. It was not as dark, but just as bare, with only a few colourless prints in frames to brighten the walls. I had once asked Mother Superior why that was. "If the girls that come to Lillian Academy can't escape the distractions of this world here, where will they escape them?" she'd said, a twinkle in her eye. But I had always wondered why the house of Our Lord was so dark and drab when the Garden of Maidens, where Our Lady stood, was so brightly decorated by nature. Perhaps that was as each wanted it; to Our Lord austerity, to Our Lady beauty. That was Lillian's chapel as it was. Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours was how I had imagined it would be. It was, of course, Ste. Marguerite's as well. Off to the left of the altar was a shrine to Ste. Marguerite herself, containing her remains. To one side by the wall were candles one could light for intentions, the kind one sees in every Catholic church. In the front pew a worshipper was praying. I put a coin in the slot, took a candle and lit it. I knew I should pray. But for whom? Or what? I took a closer look at the prayer. --Béni sois-tu, Dieu de toute sainteté, pour la vie de Marguerite Bourgeoys. Donne-nous de vivre comme elle, passionément enracinés à ton projet d'amour sur chacune de nos vies. Qu'à l'exemple de sa vie voyagère, nous allions là ou il y a quelque bien à faire ou quelque oeuvre de charité à exercer, toujours assurés du bon secours de Marie. "May we, following her example, go where there is good to be done or a work of charity to be carried out, always assured of the good help of Mary." Of course; this was the church of Our Lady of Good Help. Was it she who had made way for me to come here? And why? For Sei's sake? It might be for her sake. Sei must be unhappy. She was certainly lonely. I was not even sure the friends she had spoken of really existed; perhaps she had invented them to put me at ease. She was a solitary person by nature. So was I, which is why we had gotten along so well. No, that wasn't quite true. I--she--needed one person, no more, no less, to be content. That was why rue Saint-Paul had seemed so melancholy; it was beautiful, yes, but I knew I needed at least one other person to share it with, Yumi, Noriko...Sei. I prayed to Our Lady and to Ste. Marguerite, for Sei. And for myself, for a sign of what I had been brought here to do, and the courage to do it. -- Mother Superior had asked for a rosary from Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. I thought, in the gift shop next to the church, I might have bought her much more than that. Books about Ste. Marguerite and the Congrégation de Notre Dame de Montréal dominated a shelf and a table. Religious articles of all kinds, icons, crosses, bells, statues of the Archangel Gabriel, the Holy Family, and Ste. Marguerite herself, dominated a wall. Pictures and postcards of Popes Benedict and John Paul, Vieux-Montréal, Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, and Ste. Marguerite sat by the window. One caught my eye, a picture of an old woman in a habit, her hands holding a rosary, clasped together in prayer. I recognized it, of course; Mother Superior had a print of it over her desk at school. It was the True Likeness of Ste. Marguerite. I took one, planning to mail it later. The rosaries were on the wall opposite from the statues. I picked out a wooden one for Mother Superior. I remembered the rosary around my own wrist. I had not taken it off in bed, and it was still on my wrist. It occurred to me I should get something for Noriko. But what? And after all, what could I possibly get her at a Catholic church? Would it even be appropriate now? She had returned the rosary I had given her to me. But then, she would need one for her own petite soeur. Noriko had said she had returned my rosary for fear she would be unable to let me go later. I was afraid she must be lonely too. In Rome I remembered Yumi and Yoshino staring at rosaries, meaning them for their petites soeurs. Which of them had said it was sad to pick out a rosary for someone you did not know yet? I did feel a bit sad myself, taking down a metal rosary. But I did hope to see Noriko's petite soeur one day. I brought the rosaries and the postcard to the young woman at the cash register. --Is that all? asked the woman. --Yes...excuse me...the True Likeness...where is it? --The True Likeness? said the woman. It's here, in the museum. Would you like to see it? -- A staircase led me up sixty-nine steps towards the lookout at the top of the church. It was a little chilly, and the view would probably have been better on a brighter day, but that was all right; looking west I could see a good part of the Old City. On the banks of the St. Lawrence River was a clock- tower of white stone; across the river was a large island, dominated to the west by some presumably very modern buildings that looked like a collection of concrete blocks, and more to its centre, in front of me, by a structure that looked like a large spherical molecule. I'd have to ask Sei what those were later. To my left the Radio-Canada building, marking Sei's house. I could not see Our Lady here, but her statue must have been just above me, because on each side of the lookout was a green patina angel, acting as her guard. In the chapel I had seen model ships hung from the ceiling as I passed through the aisle. A small staircase led down from the lookout to an exhibit room describing the terrors of sea travel in the days of Ste. Marguerite and long after, and of how the sight of the statue of Our Lady at the "Sailor's Church" would have been the first thing a sailor would have seen on arriving at Montreal. There was a list of sayings in English and French about the dangers of travel by ship. One caught my eye: SI TU VEUX APPRENDRE À PRIER, VA SUR LA MER -- --Keeping the memory alive. That is the new vocation of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. Within its walls, each layer of soil and each archaeological find evoke the spiritual and material past of the site. We are invited to become pilgrims ourselves, to visit the strata of history and discover the past. Who knows what we will bring back from our journey... The crypt, in the basement, was the remains of the first church at the site of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours. Kept down there were all manner of objects from the church's history: angels, even a statue of Our Lady that had once decorated the chapel upstairs. In a few exhibit cases were portraits of Ste. Marguerite, Lord Maisonneuve, priests, bishops, as well as of nuns of the Congrégation de Notre Dame, as well as some holy medals. In one exhibit case was an old child's reader, once used in the schools of the Congrégation, open to the following poem: Trois petits loups dans un grand bois --C'est un conte de ma grand-mère, Virent passer avec son père, Un petit garçon, une fois Le premier loup dit, Qu'il est rose! Le second loup dit, Qu'il est blanc! Le troisième dit une chose Que je ne redis qu'en tremblant... Ils voulaient manger l'enfant rose, Le petit garçon rose et blanc. --Sit down. I'll make us some tea. --No, please...that should be my job. --I insist. During an idle moment Rosa Chinensis en bouton had dragged me to the Rose Mansion out of the blue on Lillian's Field day. It had been a day like this in autumn when the leaves were turning. Rosa Chinensis en bouton looked more than a little odd, making tea in her physical education outfit. It wasn't even that she was fumbling over the effort of making the tea herself, as if she had never done it before; I suspected she had rarely had to do it on her own. The fact was Sachiko Ogasawara was not the sort one would imagine deciding to make someone tea out of the blue just out of kindness. I sat down. At last the tea was drawn, and Rosa Chinensis en bouton put a cup in front of me, and took a seat beside me, not in front of me as I had expected. --What was it you wanted to see me about, Rosa Chinensis en bouton? --I meant to ask you, Shimako...I'd like you to be my petite soeur. Most first-years, I knew, would have committed murder to hear those words from the beautiful Rosa Chinensis en bouton, but when I heard them myself my heart froze. --Me? I managed to get out, trying not to display my shock. --Is that all right? --Well...I don't think... --Please, please, no false modesty. You know as much about the duties and responsibilities of the Yamiyurikai as anyone. You've displayed the conscientiousness a Yamiyurikai member needs. You get on well with us all. Oneesama's particularly taken with you. You'll make an excellent Rosa Chinensis one day, we've both agreed on that. Are you interested? It sounded like a sales pitch. I had rarely seen Rosa Chinensis en bouton smile, and it looked a little forced. I noticed too she was sitting a bit too close, looking at me a bit too intently. --Rosa Chinensis en bouton, I asked at last, did Rosa Chinensis ask you to ask me that? --I wouldn't have asked you without her permission, she replied, not answering the question. --I mean, I said, looking away, doesn't it worry you that we barely know each other? Rosa Chinensis en bouton's smile faded. --We know each other as well as you know anybody else on the Yamiyurikai. --I'm sorry, Rosa Chinensis en bouton, I said politely, but I'm going to have to refuse. --Hm. Perhaps that's not well enough. But if you don't know me well enough, you don't know anybody else on the Yamiyurikai well enough. For some there's more to know than for others. I'm asking to be your grande soeur, not your wife. I know whose wife I'm going to be. That was decided a long time ago. Rosa Chinensis en bouton's smile had turned into a full fledged scowl. She rose to go. --Shimako Todo, one does not choose one's grande soeur, it is the grande soeur who chooses. She closed the door behind her as she left the room. I finished my tea, not wishing to follow her immediately, to save her embarrassment. When I came back to the sports field, I saw Rosa Chinensis with her bouton. Chinensis en bouton was still scowling, but Chinensis herself was covering her mouth, stifling laughter. I managed to come close enough to hear, but not close enough for them to notice me pass. --You don't take rejection very well, do you, Sachiko! --But just like that! --Jealous? I would be. --Oneesama! --Actually, I thought she might say that. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! Whatever will Rosa Gigantea say? --What! You did this on purpose? --Is she that stubborn? No wonder I can't help but like her. The one reminds me of the other. I am a little jealous. But they'll make a good match, no? --She'll be waiting a long time! Rosa Gigantea offered me her rosary the very next day, under the turning leaves of the cherry tree where I had first met her. I suddenly found the crypt rather chilly. I headed for the steps upstairs. -- On the ground floor was a wall exhibit, sketching Ste. Marguerite's life. What really caught my eye was a table on which were laid out the comic books Sei remembered, telling of Ste. Marguerite's life. There was even one in Japanese, which I was sure I had lying around somewhere. Another staircase led down to an elevator to take me to the second floor. Along the wall were scenes from the life of Ste. Marguerite, arriving for the first time at Quebec City, traveling up the St. Lawrence, arriving at last at Montreal. Up the elevator was a pleasant surprise, one that couldn't help but make me smile and laugh when I saw it--the life of Ste. Marguerite, detailed in scenes peopled by dolls, made over the years by the nuns. As a child might have told it, as Sei probably learnt it. How Marguerite was a frivolous girl, the daughter of a rich candle-maker in France, loving fine cloth and jewellery. How she had seen a statue of Our Lady on Rosary Sunday and been so moved by its beauty she wanted to become a nun. At last she became a teacher for the Congregation de Notre Dame de Troyes; when she had problems, she went to church to pray. One day, Lord Maisonneuve invites her to come teach in Canada. One scene caught my eye: "The decision to leave for Canada is a difficult one, but Marguerite knows that the Blessed Virgin supports her choice." I knew the story behind that scene; Our Lady had appeared to Ste. Marguerite, dressed all in dazzling white, saying to Marguerite, still wondering whether she should go to Canada: "Go, I will not abandon you." In the scene were dolls of Ste. Marguerite and Our Lady. I couldn't help but think the doll of Our Lady looked like a bride. -- Our Lady never had appeared to me. I can no longer remember where I did get the idea that I wanted to be a Catholic nun. Perhaps it was as Madeleine Cadieux had said, that it was a childish fancy, of the sort one might get from a child's comic book; a girl might want to be a nun, or a ballerina, or a bride, so she could wear a pretty dress. Something frivolous like that. I mightn't have been the only one; heaven knew there were plenty of frivolous rich girls at Lillian Academy. It was only when I got there that I saw that not only were the nuns rather old, they no longer even dressed as I had imagined; the Congregation had not required one for many years. They dressed modestly, though well, often better than the lay teachers; but there was nothing to distinguish them from the lay teachers, beyond the fact that they tended to be by far the oldest at the school. The only one who still wore her old habit was Mother Superior. I remember asking her why that was; after all, she was not even the oldest nun at Lillian. --It's like my skin, child, she had replied. I can't remove that, can I? --No, of course not, I answered. --Besides, she had gone on, a twinkle in her eye, nobody would take me seriously without it. She might have meant it, too. It marked her as a figure of authority. But Mother Superior could only say that because she did not actually pretend to be anything other than another human being; it helped that she liked me, too. Once I realized she was just another human, though, though I was baptised at last, with Mother Superior as my godmother--something she often did for those occasional students who decided to convert--I no longer felt the urge to become a nun. That was all right with Mother Superior. What had always struck me as odd was why my father had gone along with my fancy so readily. To be sure, Lillian Academy was one of the best girl's schools within a hundred kilometers of Shoguji, Catholic or otherwise; I never regretted being sent there. But it wasn't just that. I had asked his permission to go, as I had told Sei, but it had not actually been my idea to go to Canada. One day in spring, just after my baptism at Easter, he called me into his office at Shoguji. --Shimako, he asked, have you thought about where you'd like to go to university? --I'm not sure, Father, I replied. Perhaps Lillian. --Hm. My father thought a moment, and went on: --The truth is, Fujiwara called me the other day. He asked about you. You remember him, yes? --Yes I do, I answered. In fact I only remembered a little. They had been friends when they were young men, but that was as much as I really knew. I had only been a small child when Mr. Fujiwara had last visited Shoguji. --He asked if Shimako mightn't want to come and study there--in Canada I mean. You could stay with him if you liked. I wanted to know if you thought that was a good idea. --What? --Or don't you? --Father! I said, laughing nervously. He must have been just being polite! I couldn't impose on him like that! --No, of course not...but I thought it was a good idea. It wouldn't even have to be Vancouver. I was thinking of your friend Sei too. Where did she go again? Toronto? --No, Father. Montreal. --Perhaps you could go there, have a look there, as well as Vancouver. I remember her being very fond of you. She would be glad to see you, surely? --But Father...Is this really all right? --Of course it is. Would I have made such a suggestion if it wasn't in my power to follow through on it? We're not poor, you know. --I mean...who will look after you? Father laughed. --What? I'm not that old yet! --I mean...isn't my place here? On the wall of my father's office was a wooden Buddha. He rose, walked over and touched the Buddha a moment, contemplated it, before going on: --I've always wondered if your place was here. --Father...I don't understand. Father went on, looking at the Buddha, wistfully: --If one is truly looking for the Way, then it's a small price to pay to walk all the way to the West to find it. When you asked to go to Lillian Academy, I thought, very well. All you had to do was take a bus into the city. He looked back at me, adding: --So, did you find it there? I did not reply. Who but the most vain person would have said "Yes, I have found enlightenment," even if it were true? And for all I had learned at Lillian, I did not think it was true. My silence must have been answer enough, because he went on: --Very well. Perhaps you really do need to go to the West. You won't even have to walk. It's just a short ride on an airplane. --But Father, I asked, are you sure I'd find it there? --I wonder...but then... He turned back to the Buddha, musing: --But then...if I could have found enlightenment at Shoguji, selling charms to tourists and schoolgirls come to pray for boyfriends, I'd have found it long ago. Fujiwara asked me to come with him, when he left. Did I ever tell you that, Shimako? He never had. My father did not talk about himself much. I had never thought very hard of him as ever having been anything than the priest at Shoguji, much less that he had ever had any doubts or that I would ever hear them speak them so bluntly. --No, Father...did you want to? --Certainly I wanted to. --Then why didn't you go? Father turned back to me, smiling sadly. --Your grandfather wouldn't let me. He said my place was here. -- There was one more room, containing relics of the Congrégation and their work: photos of the sisters with their pupils through the generations; drawings and paintings of their Mother House, now long since removed to another part of the city; books on history, chemistry, trigonometry; a globe; even cutlery from the refectory of one of their schools in Montreal. In the next room, the very last, was the True Likeness of Marguerite Bourgeoys. The True Likeness was not the only painting in the room. On the left-hand wall was another painting of Ste. Marguerite that I had never seen before. I looked at it for a few moments. It was more idealized, symmetric, Ste. Marguerite's face looking a good fifteen years younger, a smile on her lips. The True Likeness itself was the centrepiece of the back wall, with relics of Ste. Marguerite in a glass case in front of it, and some of her sayings written on the wall on each side. Before the True Likeness were set a few chairs, on which one might sit, reflect and pray in the presence of the True Likeness. One one of the chairs a woman sat in prayer. When I turned to look at her, after looking at the relics, I saw it was the woman I had met at Sherbrooke station. -- III -- The woman from Sherbrooke station looked up as I looked towards her. --Excusez-moi, I said, thinking I had disturbed her prayer. --Tiens, pourquoi? she responded, with a reassuring smile. Her Japanese accent was unmistakable. --Gomen nasai, I tried again in Japanese. --Iie, daijobu, she answered. It's quite all right. --I should get out of your way, I said. --Well, then, why don't you sit? she said, indicating the seat beside her. I sat as she had asked, and we sat in silence for a few moments, looking at the True Likeness. It was she who broke the silence, asking me: --I saw you looking at the other painting a moment ago. You seemed rather taken by it. I was afraid it had led you astray. --Led me astray? I looked towards her. She was still smiling, now a hint of a tease in her eyes. --You wouldn't be the first. --No...I just had never seen it before. How could a painting lead me astray? --What do you think of it, then? I thought a moment. --Ste. Marguerite looks much younger. Healthier. In the True Likeness she looks like she is in pain... --No. The woman over there is not Ste. Marguerite. --What do you mean? The woman looked back at the True Likeness, and went on to tell a story: --That is the true face of Ste. Marguerite, as she lay dying. It was painted just after her death. Anybody who had known her would have recognized the face in the painting as hers. The years passed, and the time came when nobody remained who had known Marguerite Bourgeoys or seen her face. The sisters were sure Marguerite Bourgeoys could not have looked like that, such a frail old woman. So little by little, over the generations, they altered the painting to make her look how they thought she would have looked. How they were sure Mother Bourgeoys must have looked. One day, not long ago, a man who had spent many years studying art took a look at the painting, and said at once, "This is not Mother Bourgeoys!" She pointed back to the painting on the wall, going on: --He was sure the men of her time would not have painted her that way. They would have painted her as she was, not as the sisters thought she should be. But even so they copied the painting of Mother Bourgeoys--for that is how they thought of it--and gave the real painting to the man. He carefully removed the paint, and found there was another painting underneath. The True Likeness of Ste. Marguerite. The woman turned back to the True Likeness. --Her expression is of pain. But of compassion. Like that of Christ on the cross...perhaps. You see...nobody in this world now knows what Christ looked like. And men in their folly have depicted him as they thought he ought to look, with fair hair and blue eyes, perhaps, not as he was. Even men of great faith saw him through a glass darkly, at best. The darkness being their own folly and pride. We are lucky to see Ste. Marguerite as she really was. Only the saints in heaven, being purified from sin, are so blessed as to be able to see Christ as he really is... --I'm sorry, I said at last. You've thought about this much more than I have. The woman turned to me, laughing softly, looking a little a hint of embarrassment in her expression. It was for all that a beautiful laugh, I thought. --I'm the one who should be sorry. You were the one who was afraid she was disturbing me. Now I'm the one disturbing you. Forgive me...it's not often I get to speak Japanese any more... --No, it's not that...it's just...at my school the principal had the True Likeness over her desk. I'd never seen it myself until now. --This is your first time here, then? asked the woman. --Yes...yes it is. --I hope it's not the last. I come here quite often to pray. Not always here, more often in the chapel, but I come as often as I can. --Actually...how did you get here? --What? To Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours? --Yes...you probably didn't notice me, I said. We took the same metro car to Champ-de-Mars, but I didn't see which way you'd gone out. I didn't think you were going the same place as I was... --Oh! The woman's eyes widened a little in recognition. --I remember you now. I saw you at Sherbrooke station this morning. By the mosaic of Saint John... --Yes...tell me...is one supposed to cross oneself when one sees Saint John? --What? The woman laughed a little louder, covering her mouth as she did, blushing a little. --Is one indeed? Nobody will think you rude if you don't, if that's what you mean. People pass it all the time without even looking at it, never mind making the sign of the cross. But I always do. You must have found it odd! --No, no...I just wasn't sure. --Actually, miss... --Shimako Todo, I said. --Oh dear, where are my manners? said the woman, offering her hand. Thérèse Kubo. --Pleased to meet you, I said, struggling with the name, Tei-re-su... --Very good! said Thérèse. --Like Ste. Thérèse de Lisieux? I said, taking her hand. --Yes, that's right. I squeezed Thérèse's hand gently a moment and let it go. She asked me then: --I meant to ask...how did you get here yourself, Miss Todo? --Shimako's fine... --Is it? Well, then, call me Thérèse!...did you come by the tunnel, Shimako? --Yes. --That explains it...I should show you the way I come here from the metro. It's rather safer, and much prettier. Would you like that? --Oh no, I said, I couldn't impose... --I'm on my way back anyway. Please. Obviously I wasn't in any real hurry to get back to Champ-de-Mars station- Sei wouldn't be there for quite a while. But knowing a better way to the metro was a useful thing to know, and Thérèse was friendly enough, and apparently glad enough of the company herself, that I couldn't find it in myself to turn her down. Actually, it was more than that. Thérèse had captured my interest when I had first seen her at Sherbrooke station, and her story about the True Likeness was thought-provoking enough that, in spite of my protests, she had captured my imagination. Sei had captured my imagination too, under the cherry blossoms at Lillian. -- We left Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours by the chapel, Thérèse genuflecting at one of the pews as we turned to go, I following suit. Our conversation about Sherbrooke station had reminded me of something. --Actually, Thérèse...I asked. --Yes? --If you come here often...you must know the chapel very well. --I know a little... --Well, then...is Saint John the Baptist here? I couldn't find him. --Why, of course he is. I'll show you. By the door of the chapel were several paintings; on one side was a portrait of Ste. Marguerite, beside that a portrait of what I thought was the Holy Family, except there was not just one boy--the boy Jesus--but another boy with him. --There. John and Jesus were relatives. There they are together, at play. -- MERDE IL PLEUT It was, in fact, still drizzling somewhat when we stepped outside the church, but I was still a little reluctant to open Sei's umbrella. --That's an interesting umbrella, said Thérèse. --It's not mine, I replied, trying not to sound too defensive. --Oh? She replied. Whose is it then? --It belongs to a friend. I'm staying with her in Montreal. So we walked together along rue Saint-Paul, back past the Marché and any number of shops and restaurants, until we finally came to a square. On the corner was a souvenir shop announcing the name of the square: SOUVENIRS PLACE JACQUES-CARTIER and a red signpost pointing the way to the Champ-de-Mars metro station. --Didn't she want to come with you this morning? --She wasn't feeling well. I'm going to meet her for lunch later. --I see. She lives in Montreal, then? --Yes. She goes to McGill. We're supposed to go there after lunch. --Would you like to go there yourself? --Perhaps. The truth is, I came here to visit the universities. --It's an excellent university. I'm planning to go myself, God willing. Save for a few sightseers gathered under their own clump of umbrellas, perhaps waiting for a guide, Thérèse and I had place Jacques-Cartier to ourselves as we walked up the hill, past the trees planted here with their turning leaves and the souvenir shops and restaurants lining the side of the square. --Haven't you graduated from high school? I asked. I had been sure she was a bit older than I was. --Actually, yes I have...I go to Marianopolis College. It's a junior college in Montreal. I wanted to go to McGill when I graduated from there. --Do you like it? --Yes...it's one of the best in Canada. The campus is beautiful too, especially in autumn. And, Thérèse added, turning to me, it was founded by the Congrégation. How could I not go? --The Congrégation de Notre Dame? --Yes. The truth is, all I know I learned at the schools of the CND. From the bottom of the hill I could see a pillar at the top, on which a statue stood. It wasn't until we were near the top that I noticed to my right a small park in which another statue stood, a man wearing a modern suit and glasses, his hands outstretched. --Is that Jacques Cartier? I asked Thérèse, as we approached the pillar. --Oh no! she replied. That's Admiral Nelson. --Wasn't he English? --Well, yes. The English ruled Montreal for a long time, you know. --And who is that? I asked, pointing to the statue in the park. Thérèse suddenly got a playful glint in her eye and replied: --Colonel Sanders. It was true that the statue's arms were outstretched exactly as were the arms of the statues of Colonel Sanders one might find outside a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise anywhere in Japan. So it took me slightly longer than it really should have to realize that of course Thérèse was joking. --No it isn't! I said, covering my mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. --No, of course it isn't. That's Jean Drapeau. He was mayor many years ago. But I think he looks like Colonel Sanders. --Really? Thérèse smiled, now looking very playful, and answered: --That's why it's nice to have another Japanese person here. When I tell Canadians that they all think I'm mad! We had reached the top of the hill, a signpost marking the street we had to cross as rue Notre-Dame. A man stood by a horse-drawn carriage, apparently waiting in vain for a passenger, both horse and man looking rather bedraggled. --Actually, Thérèse...is that really your name? --What? My Japanese name, you mean? No. But that's what everyone calls me. --Why is that? Across rue Notre-Dame was another small square, dominated by a fountain, already turned off for the autumn, and a statue of a man called Vauquelin. I followed Therese to the end of the square. Below us by way of some steps was the field I had seen walking up the hill from Champ-de-Mars station, cut through by the stone-lined ditch. Thérèse stopped at the top of the steps and sat down, not seeming to mind the damp. I gingerly sat down beside her, hoping my skirt wouldn't get too wet. --The truth is, she said, I'm a novice. With the Congrégation de Notre-Dame de Montréal. --Oh...! --Surprised? said Thérèse. I shouldn't have been. When I had seen her first I had thought she looked every inch a nun. It made perfect sense. But even Mother Superior went by her real name, not the name of a saint. --Then...did they ask you to take the name of a saint? --Oh no...they don't do that any more...the truth is...it happened that when I came here to go to school, and I told the sisters at my school I wanted to become one of them... --At Marianopolis? --Oh no! At my high school. I finished high school in Canada. --I see. --Anyway, Thérèse went on, they told me I was the youngest person they'd had in a long time, who was seriously interested in becoming a sister. They had trouble pronouncing my name, so one of the sisters took to calling me Thérèse, after Ste. Thérèse, because I was so young. So the sisters called me Thérèse, and eventually my classmates called me Thérèse too. And Thérèse became my name. --But then, Thérèse, I asked, what are you doing here? --I'm studying to become a sister with the CND, she said. Or didn't I just tell you? --But you could have studied to be a sister in Japan, surely. --Our Lady wants me here. I must have looked amazed, because she added: --Or don't you believe she does? --I do...I just wondered how you knew she wanted you to come this far away. Thérèse suddenly stood, outstretched her arms and said dramatically: --One morning, when I was fully awake, a tall woman dressed in a robe as of white serge, said to me very clearly: "Go, I will never forsake you." She suddenly smiled, to reveal she was teasing, and added: --Perhaps you expected a story like that? I admit I felt rather foolish to seem to doubt her vocation so much. She dropped her arms, laughed sheepishly as if to apologize for her joke, and went on: --I wish I could tell it to you myself. I have never had Our Lady show herself so plainly to me as she did to Ste. Marguerite. I only dream of being that worthy. There are some who have seen Our Lady for themselves. I'm not one of them...but I have faith in her all the same. That this is where she wants me to be. Thérèse sat down beside me again, adding: --Because, the truth is I owe her my life. To her and Ste. Marguerite. --Really? --Yes. The truth is...when I was eight years old my parents and I were in a terrible car accident in Tokyo. My parents were killed, and by rights I should have been too. As it was I was on life support. The doctors had just about given up hope. My mother had gone to one of the schools of the CND, and had kept in touch with one of the sisters. Sister Saori. When she heard what had happened she came to the hospital to pray for the intercession of Ste. Marguerite, and of Our Lady. When my uncle and the rest of my father's family came up from Nagasaki she asked them to do the same. And I completely recovered. --Because of her intercession? Ste. Marguerite's? --Yes. And Our Lady's. --So...that's why you wanted to become a sister, Thérèse? Out of gratitude? Thérèse looked at me with a surprised, not to say shocked expression. --Want? Shimako, I didn't choose Our Lady. She chose me. The first thing I was told when I got well enough to understand what had happened was that Our Lady and Ste. Marguerite had saved my life. I owed them everything. I've never forgotten that for a minute. How could I refuse them a thing? --I'm sorry, I said, feeling foolish yet again. --Don't be, she said, reassuringly. But you do understand, yes? It is the Lord who calls us to him, not the other way around. --I do, I said. I found myself wondered just then how old Sachiko Ogasawara might have been when she was told she was to marry Suguru Kashiwagi. Eight? Seven? Six? --I'm glad, said Thérèse. Not everybody does. Thérèse looked out into the rain towards the new city across the freeway, and continued: --In any case, my uncle took me in, and sent me to the school of the CND in Nagasaki. By the time I was ready for high school, it happened Sister Saori had become the principal at a school in Musashino, and I went there for my first year staying with her at the convent there. But...well, it's a long story, really, but Sister Saori decided that if I really wanted to be a sister, that it was best that I complete my education here. --Why? --Well...I need to be ready to go wherever Our Lady sends me. To the missions in Central America, in Cameroon. Or perhaps simply teach school in Montreal, as Ste. Marguerite did. To do that...well, they don't speak Japanese in Africa. It's easier to learn French here than in Japan. Spanish and English too. And besides... Thérèse looked back at me, a happy look on her face. --This is the city of Mary. --The city of Mary? --Yes. Ville-Marie. That is what Ste. Marguerite herself called it. If the Virgin wished me to sojourn a while in her favourite city, able to go pray at Bon-Secours whenever I pleased...well...even if I could, why would I have refused her? It's a privilege for me to be here. Thérèse turned back to look towards the city and concluded: --So I stayed with the sisters here in Montreal and finished high school here. Right now the plan is for me to get a teaching degree. I'll take my vows after that. So... Sister Saori. That was Mother Superior's name. --Your school in Musashino, I asked. I don't suppose it was Lillian Academy? --Why, yes. You're a student there? --Yes, I said. --It is a small world! said Thérèse, brightening. Do you like it there? --Yes, very much. Did you? --I have many fond memories of the place...it's an excellent school, yes. Is Sister Saori well? --Mother Superior? Yes, she is...it was she that you stayed with then? --Yes... --Shall I tell her you're well? --If you like!...Actually, forgive me if this sounds odd, but...? --Go on. --I remember a hymn we often sang at Lillian, comparing Our Lady to the lily of the mountains...do you know it? Maria-sama no kokoro sore wa yamayuri watashitachi mo hoshii shiroi yamayuri Her singing voice was like herself--unadorned, but clear, sincere, and oddly beautiful. I picked up the tune, and sang along with her, though not as well: Maria-sama no kokoro sore wa sapphire watashitachi wo kazaru hikaru sapphire She smiled, and suddenly I couldn't help giggling, and she joined in. I had completely forgotten about the drizzle and cold. It wasn't just because of having company, or even having found yet another girl from Lillian Academy here, so far away from home--though that was true as well--but Thérèse was somehow able to put me at ease and comfort, enough that I could sing together with her, a perfect stranger, without feeling at all embarrassed. A feeling I had nothing at all to fear. Calm. --Thérèse? I asked. --Yes? --If you're not busy--I’d like you to meet my friend that I'm staying with in Montreal. My grande soeur, actually--her name is Sei Sato. Do you remember her? --Ah! Thérèse seemed to have frozen, looking utterly thunderstruck. She held her breath a moment. --Yes, she said at last. Yes, as a matter of fact I do. --Is something wrong? I asked at last. Thérèse looked down at the rosary on my wrist, as if noticing it for the first time. She pointed to it, her hand trembling just a little. --Your rosary...may I look at it for a second? --What?...of course, I don't see why not, I answered, moving to take it off. --There's no need to take it off. Do you mind showing me your hand a moment? I did not refuse, offering her my hand. Thérèse took my wrist in her hand. I couldn't help but notice how amazingly light and soft her touch was just then, how perfectly formed and feminine the hand was. Thérèse looked at my rosary a moment, saying softly, as much to herself as to me: --I thought it looked familiar. But then I thought no, it was impossible... She looked back up at me. I was afraid she would suddenly be jealous, but if she was jealous, I could not see it in her eyes at all. Rather a look of wonder, perhaps. --You're Rosa Gigantea now? she asked at last, her voice shaking just a bit. --Yes. Thérèse let go of my arm. Her hand had begun to tremble just a bit. --Shimako...when did you say you had to meet Sei for lunch? --About 12:30. You do want to meet her? She has to know you're here, I added, smiling broadly, trying to reassure her. She'll be overjoyed to see you, I know she... --I don't think that's a good idea. --Why? Do you think she'll be angry? Thérèse did not answer. She said instead: --I really would like to talk some more, though, Thérèse went on. With you. About Sei? I wanted to ask. But that would have been an idiotic question. --With me? I asked instead, not much more idiotic, I know. --I have to run an errand, though. Will you come with me? --Near here? --On the metro it's not far. It won't take long. I'll have you back in time to meet her. We can talk on the metro, if you'd like. Is it all right? I did not refuse. I could not refuse. Before me was the true likeness of Shiori Kubo. TSUZUKU
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