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Anxiety left every part of Agnes' body numb after she realized that she had just helped Dean Lawrence, who was her most faithful confidant, and she would like him to be remembered like this by his other colleagues, exposing the crimes of corruption, including the simony that involved the Canadian Cardinal Joseph Tremblay, Joe, who was also something more to her than a simple religious colleague. However, this information did not need to be exposed to anyone, not even Lawrence himself; that was better for everyone else.
The English cardinal had finally finished distributing his own share of copies of the gray-covered stacks of papers. “Is it really okay for you to help me with this, sister?” He turned to her looking for an answer, his blue eyes almost desperate, always searching for an answer to everything. She wished she could give him that security, but she had her own ghosts beyond what he could see. "Agnes? Is everything okay, sister?" He called her when he noticed that the woman was just staring at him with a blank look, oblivious to the whole situation.
When she heard the footsteps of what were probably the cardinalate groups approaching, the French woman finally managed to snap out of the state of dissociation, following her footsteps until she reached that moment where she managed to mutter something like: "It's okay, Dean, that's our job as daughters of charity, after all." That day she had woken up early like every other day and done her morning hygiene, fed the wild birds in the garden of Casa Santa Marta as she usually does without the knowledge of others, even monitored the food that would be served from that moment until the fateful hour when she returned to her office and had to make more than a hundred copies of a criminal plot. “I think I should go now, with your leave, Eminence.”
She knelt down and kissed his ring before leaving; There was a certain haste in the action and even a certain sloppiness, as the kiss touched more of the skin on the ring finger of his right hand than the ring that represented his marriage to the Church. But she soon left without further ado, still quite thoughtful. Her heart seemed to jump and something in her still made her unable to show all that; her profile as an unshakable woman allowed her to leave that room without giving any greater importance to her action of kissing Lawrence or what it inflicted on her dean's conflicted heart. That wasn't his main problem at the moment.
She was still standing, listening through the kitchen door. She had even considered going to her office and spending the day managing her things from there, using one of the sisters, more specifically Sister Judith, who asked her if she was okay after leaving with a tray of food, to pass on her instructions to the rest of the Daughters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul. However, at the moment she made her decision, which at that moment was to, in other words, flee to the mountains, she felt the urgency to return and speak for her English partner, who was being swallowed by the fury of the Nigerian who felt exposed, the Venetian patriarch who was snorting like a rabid bull and, consequently, everyone else who was there starting a collective discussion.
Her entrance had initially gone unnoticed by the rest of the people in the room, except Cardinal Benítez, who watched her as a kind of eyewitness as she stood among the dozens of frustrated cardinals. “Eminences…” Nothing, not even one of them, stopped and listened to her, except, of course, Thomas, who looked with what looked like tears in his eyes, but it could also just be his usual expression since the beginning of that conclave. “...eminences.” She tried for the last time when she realized that at that moment her blue-gray habit, her disadvantageous height and the fact that she was naturally invisible to ignorant men like these forced her to scream. “Eminences!” She screamed at the top of her lungs at the height of her euphoria. They wouldn't forget her voice anytime soon. But thunder only happens when it rains, she heard that in a song once.
Everyone turned to look at her with a curiosity and anxiety she had never seen before. She had come too far to back down and there was already something Agnes had kept to herself that might as well be said now, so she continued. “Eminences, even though we sisters should be invisible, God has nevertheless given us eyes and ears…” The murmurs had begun. God, she hated them. “...I know what caused the Dean of the College of Cardinals to enter the chambers of the late Holy Pope.” If Lawrence had been staring at her, she would never have known. His vision turned to Joseph's like an animal captures the position of its prey that was already bleeding and, consequently, already knew that it was destined to perish. "He was concerned that the sister of my order who participated in that sad scene had perhaps been brought to Rome with the deliberate intention of embarrassing a member of that conclave. His suspicions were right, she was brought here at the specific behest of the..." She paused to savor her last statement. “At the behest of Cardinal Tremblay.”
Downed prey.
She bowed in respect to the others there before leaving. She didn't give a shit and couldn't care less if she was honest with herself. The Frenchwoman felt Lawrence coming towards her almost immediately, at her feet, only to be stopped by Tedesco, who cornered him like an armed hunter, leaving him with no choice in going after what he really wanted. Their entire relationship was already too compromising to be ruined by him, making everything so obvious. It would be better this way, she thought, walking aimlessly towards her safe haven, the gardens of Casa Santa Marta and the birds that she used to watch and care for like a mother did with her young. She was so good at it and could spend hours doing it, and she really did.
—
His tired face redirected his gaze to the group of spotted starlings that, as nature dictated, were walking in groups. She would like to feel free from the shackles of her vocation, to which she had been trying to give some meaning for years, and, at the same time, she would like to feel like a family, as they seemed to feel all the time: clinging, interconnected and consummated together with each other, always. Something that she always found adorable was the veil they produced, which, in large quantities, could hide someone around her, almost like a black curtain and all of this made her let out a slightly sad laugh.
She was sitting on one of the benches in the most secluded part of the acres of garden, with both feet bare so she could feel her own toes. Her hands slid across the veil to remove it and then the crow's nest that held it to her head. Her shoulder-length hair fell like a small wave that gave off a magnificent smell of wildflowers. In the depths of her melancholy, she liked to move them between her fingers, it reminded her of the few people who knew she was there, the few who visited that place so she could have the intimacy of showing her hair like that.
Judith, one of the younger sisters of the brotherhood, was one of the children who arrived at the orphanage a little older and for whom Agnes, when she still held a much lower position, decided to look after her. The girl treated her like a sister and was never formally adopted, but the cardinals' governess may or may not have indirectly taken custody of her at one point. She taught her about birdwatching and brought her there for a walk with the other older children, but before all that, Judith used to be a little child who cried to hold her hair and slept clutching it when it was still longer.
And there was another, of course. It wasn't Lawrence, as incredible as it seemed. She began to see among the flight of starlings, who began to disperse into the distance, revealing the stupidly tall side she wished she could lie that she hated it about those she loved and those she still loves, but that would be a lie, and she is a terrible liar. Tremblay's gigantic silhouette scared the birds away, irritating her from now on. He never appreciated them, but he used to stop and sit next to her and spend all those hours staring and listening to her talk, without really understanding anything about the vaguely discussed subject on his part.
His eyes went to the length of her hair, then to her eyes, and all the while, he remained there, motionless, with his hands clasped frantically, putting on and taking off the priestly ring from his own hand. He didn't dare leave or even approach. She couldn't tell if he was longing for revenge or forgiveness; he should be careful with his own response to that. “Je peux m’asseoir avec toi?” In French with a gentle Canadian accent. It was official: she hated him. Agnes hates Joseph Tremblay and the way her body made room for him.
She put her feet back into her pair of boots. “Don’t do that again, speak English to me, Joseph.” The way she called him when he was still sitting down made him turn to her too quickly, as if she had called him a bad boy. However, he was no boy and was not at all worthy of being called by whatever cute nickname Lawrence had given him since the beginning of the conclave. “Joe” was for good kids who didn’t commit crimes of corruption against the Church, people who wouldn’t give up everything for the priesthood while they were still in love and emotionally committed. But she thought so much about the frustration she felt and accumulated over the years that she couldn't pay any attention to the way he sat next to her, like they usually did. "What do you want, after all? Revenge? For me to portray myself to the cardinalate? Forget it, if this is the last one."
Joseph seemed almost like a Renaissance painting about loss and mourning. He hadn't made the same face when she exposed him in front of everyone, but now that he was being treated worse than a stranger, his eyes filled up. What's wrong with big men and why are they always crying? He removed his glasses from his face so as not to stain them with the water as he looked at them on his lap. “Est-ce qu'un jour tu vas defendantsir à mettre de côté ce qu'il faut pour me pardonner pour le passé?” The tearful voice might even make her laugh, if it weren't, of course, tragic and even pathetic for a man his age to have such dramatic sobs.
Something about him, practically hopeless, pleading and tearful, made her have a certain pity to look him in the eyes honestly, since all that time she had her face turned towards the wisteria bed, even during the times she answered him. Agnes brought her hands to his tired eyes and wiped away the stubborn tears that began to flow mercilessly through the dark circles until they reached his cheeks, and she was unable to control the way he liquefied when she made physical contact with him. As Joseph fell apart at her touch, she felt their faces desperately attracting each other, like when they were young and, at any contact from her, the Canadian completely fell apart to return the touch and they were unable to let go of each other at any time.
When there was nowhere else to go in the space on that bench, he kissed her. He kissed her fervently, as if nothing else mattered. Tremblay never forgot the taste of that sensation; It all haunted him as deeply as it did the last time they kissed. She poured her weight onto him, as she often did, and he held her waist as if she would let go at any moment, while he donated one of his hands to stroke the hair of the unforgettable woman—the first, and would be the last, if not for the Church, with whom he wore conjugal rings at that moment. She tasted his tears, which didn't stop flowing; he regretted it, and she knew it. However, there was nothing left for her there, and the salty taste was replaced by the metallic taste of Tremblay's blood, which was leaking from the lower lip she had just bitten. “No, I don’t forgive you, Joseph.” He groaned in pain against her mouth; her eyes widened as she pulled out his cudgel and wiped away the blood that stained her own mouth.
For the first few minutes, he stared at her standing up in front of him. The disbelief in his eyes was comical. She enjoyed the blood of her share of revenge. He knew she would have loved him, but that was his choice and, naturally, she would respond corresponding to the route he alone took there. It would be a lie to say that the sad way he smiled after complaining in inaudible whispers of pain, with something in his face that said “For you I face fear”, did not make her release some of her own tears. Your share of the pain. He also made a point of getting up and trying to comfort her, but she pushed him away without thinking, she knew what would happen if she thought about it too much.
He held her by the shoulder, and this time she stayed to hear him say, as he stroked her hair and made her feel incredibly warm: "I will always miss you. Je t'adore, comme un bienheureux, Agnes." The Canadian blasphemed his name. Of course he would make the biggest statement of his life with a bias completely against what the Church preaches. She should have stopped being surprised when she found out about the sodomy. And now that they would have to meet during almost every voting end... However, the magnets that connected their bodies still had an attraction that deserved to be sealed once and for all for both of them, in the right way with the golden keys or whatever they both needed to close the last chapter of the book of hurts and barbs that they had been co-authoring throughout their lives. “Call me what you used to call me, Joe.”
The sparkle in his eyes, which gradually faded during the speech, although it wasn't difficult for Agnes to do so, as he hadn't been so strong since they separated, rekindled for a brief moment. He wanted to be the man she would call pet names for the rest of her life, the man he didn't try hard enough to be and ended up failing. At that moment, he wanted to convey his feelings through his actions and naturally wrapped her in his arms. His mind only projected her and counted every minute of contact. So many years waiting to have her and I should leave her after that. The kiss began desperately, with her spilled into his arms and him trying to grasp every movement of both tongues, practically salivating at the contact with the Frenchwoman's lips. However, it was taking a slow and melancholy turn, and he found himself holding on so close to him that he lifted her off the ground, as they had often done in the past. The hug between the two tightened at the end of the kiss, and he looked at her, saying against her neck, like a desperate lover: “I will miss you so much. I love you, Mon Lapin .”
He left her on the floor only to witness her putting the veil back on her head. Before, the piece was abandoned and symbolized for him a false fantasy in which they were still together in the backyard after watching the birds in the late afternoon. But they would never be something again. That would always be one of the thousands of little corners where members of the Church broke their vows or escaped reality for seconds and the birds' departure was a warning that he should leave.
"There's no point in trying to forget what we had. It will haunt us forever, and little things reminded me of details we shared. Maybe another woman will try to fill that space, or the other way around. But if that makes you want me even more, that's entirely your fault. You'll always remember me." She could have said that, but it all seemed too cold and false. Agnes knew everything would remind her of him for days and she would be a hypocrite if she lied that she wouldn't know if someone else would touch her like he did. Much less, thanks to your vocation. Having said nothing, Cardinal Tremblay believed that this was his time to leave, and he took his leave with a brief: “Je t’aime tellement, tellement je ne peux pas oublier, je voulais que tu saches, Lapland .” ‘I love you so much, so much that I can’t forget, I wanted you to know, bunny.’ The French woman condemned the way he chose to do that, always an eternal child who didn’t know how to mature. He couldn’t forget her that easily.
She gave a weak smile, matching the appreciative look he'd given her since he got there. “Ça va passer.” ‘This will pass.’ She would say this and perhaps wouldn't follow her own advice, but she left it there when she heard Lawrence's gentle voice looking for her from afar. She would recognize his heavy footsteps from a distance. Her worry made him stiff, and she would be grateful for that right now, because now she had a home to return to. Her house was next door to him, and he called her like a worried wife. That was when she knew she had to return and comfort him. That was what moving forward meant.