I felt a surge of pity. “As you wish, Sister.” I reached for the blanket and covered her again, then brought a cup of wine to her lips. Jutta took a small sip and fell back, closing her eyes. “I think we should take turns watching over her.” I turned to the anchoresses. “I will start while you get some rest.”
We sat at Jutta’s bedside during the night and the following day, trying in vain to persuade her to accept treatment. At most, she allowed her feet, hands, and forehead to be bathed with yarrow water to bring down the fever, which did not help much. Most of the time she seemed insensible, and it was only then that her features would smooth out and the traces of her former beauty emerge in the delicate oval of her face and the fine shape of her cheekbones.
But there were also periods when she was shaken by agitation and spoke unintelligibly, often ending with this warning: “God looks on our deeds, and His anger is great! If we don’t undertake penance, our punishment will be a thousand-fold . . . Oh, it will never end!”
On the morning of the third day, I helped her to some wine and put a cloth soaked in yarrow water on her forehead.
“You are wasting your efforts. Better pray for my soul,” Jutta said with surprising lucidity.
“I can pray for your soul while I bring you relief and offer a cure. Will you let me?”
She shook her head. “God sends suffering, and it is for us to bear it till it pleases Him to release us. Health, life, and death can only proceed from Him.”
“But I may be the instrument through which He acts,” I suggested.
“We have no right to reverse the course of God’s plan. I am happy He has chosen to try me in this way, for it is by being steadfast and meek in the face of adversity that we can obtain forgiveness and hope for salvation.”
I remained silent as I realized that for Jutta, this was yet another opportunity to repent for the sins of the world and make a sacrifice on the altar of its redemption. Indeed, what offense could she be guilty of?
“This body,” she resumed after a while, laying her hand on her sunken belly, “is not mine to tend to as if it were a garden plant. The body is but a shell that carries our soul on this dreary journey. It will be discarded at the end as we ascend to the true life.”
This was followed by several hours of fitful sleep, during which the fever rose once again, and the odor of the infection became more pronounced. Even the sisters, accustomed though they were to the smells of the enclosure, noticed it. I had to bring in freshly cut fir branches that Brother Wigbert used in such cases. Fortunately, the heat had finally broken. It started to rain, which helped the balsamic fragrance to spread more effectively and purify the air.
But time was running out for Jutta. As I contemplated this, I felt angry at what I believed to be a distortion of faith, perhaps a sin in itself.
Finally, a solution dawned on me. When Jutta opened her eyes and asked for a drink of water, I took advantage of the sisters’ absence to reason with her one last time. “I have thought much about what you said, Sister, and it has stirred me so!” Something akin to contentment flickered in her eyes. It lasted only a moment, but her body relaxed a little. “Yet I fear that if you die, we who remain in this convent will lose the beacon that shines so brightly for us.” I paused. “Please, Sister, stay with us for our sakes. Your mission is not yet complete!”
The plea made the desired impression, for Jutta’s eyes focused more clearly and something—was it disbelief?—flashed across her face. She must have thought me beyond retrieve. “But if this is what God wills?” she asked with effort.
I grasped at it. “How can we know what God intends for us? We won’t until we are no more. And it is a grave sin to bring about one’s own demise.” I was conscious of the risk of speaking thus to my superior and the possibility of losing any chance of convincing her to accept treatment.
Jutta closed her eyes, but her breathing showed that she was not asleep. After a while, she opened them again. “What medicines have you?” Her voice was resigned, and I was astonished at this unnatural inclination to see a cure as an unpleasant necessity rather than welcome relief. But there was no time to lose; I moved swiftly to the table where the vinegar, the jar of moist leaves, and a quantity of fresh linen had been laid out for four days.
“The vinegar will cleanse the wounds,” I explained in the same tone I used with infirmary patients, “and the plasters will speed up the healing. When I change the dressing later, I will rub honey on the broken skin to protect it from malignant influences.”
But when I made a move to help Jutta turn over, she raised her hand to check me. “I will do it myself.”
“You cannot reach your own back.” I shook my head as if I were taking to a child.
“Reaching the Kingdom of Heaven is difficult,” Jutta replied in a tone that precluded further argument. “This is not.”
“Let me do this for you to ensure that the entire area is treated,” I persisted.
Jutta looked straight at me with the same desperate expression I had already seen before. “I will manage.” After a pause for breath, she added, “Trust me!”
I was puzzled but also astonished at this plea. Trust me! They were the first words of such power and intimacy Jutta had ever spoken to me. I said no more and withdrew from the dorter, closing the door behind me.
There was nothing to do but
