process, so be it. They’d already taken enough from him.
21 – Day at the Office
Sister Cawood hurried back from the washroom. Her guts still boiled and burned. She had almost vomited twice in the elevator coming up-barely made it to the bathroom. Sour digestive juices still scorched her esophagus and her whole body ached. Her reproductive organs stung, throbbed with the slightest vibration or pressure. Chastity! Every atom of her wanted to go home-pull the curtains, climb back into the bed and pray she’d wake up later from the nightmare. Obedience.
She was going on autopilot now-true, she had to think. But being in the office kept people from wondering, even forming a question about her. People trusted her. If the film ever surface they’d believe her if she said it was a fake. A sick cramp rippled through her bowels and she almost headed back to the washroom. We implore the aid of Your tender mercy, that being restored to bodily health; she may give thanks to You in Your Church.
She had to stop. Had to. It was suicidal. She had no idea what drug she had taken or whether she had taken others. Not the slightest idea how much alcohol she’d mixed with it. Chastity. And what of venereal disease? Oh Virgin preserve me! She had to make an appointment with a doctor. What Doctor? Memory of the night at the bar had degenerated into red-tinted snapshots of hell: snippets of faces, laughter, hard probing kisses and smoke and bodies. Each image brought regret and nausea. Blessed Mother!
She flushed when her mind slipped back to the hazy evening’s end. Obedience. The men she’d awakened with-a surge of shame sickened her-they’d told her that the other man, Raul, had a camera. Maybe they were kidding her. Trying to freak her out.
Then she realized the choice for stopping herself might have been taken out of her hands. A dark depressing chasm opened under her with the thought. It’s over! Cawood paused beside her secretary’s door. Jane was too perky, too Scottish to see now.
The nun doubted she could hide her shame in front of Jane. And if she spotted Cawood, Jane would bring her a thick armload of files-something-chatting-she’d want to talk about the Church and God. Cawood couldn’t take that now. She paused outside Jane’s door listening. She had to get past and into her own office. Once inside, she could close and lock her door: claim she was meditating. God come to my assistance, Lord make haste to help me. Jane respected that.
Then she could spend the morning napping as her body detoxified. Again the thought of Raul and the camera flickered obscenely through her mind. “After,” she promised herself, believing that rest would prepare her for dealing with what had happened. Whore! She could contemplate her doom. A part of her relished the notion. No more hiding. Bless me Father for I have sinned.
Temples throbbing, she listened at Jane’s door. The old manual typewriter clattered away, ring, and a rough metallic grind as the carriage slid back into position. Technology didn’t work well after the Change. The church had embraced the devolution. Cawood held her breath then hurried past, praying that Jane would be focused on her margins.
“Sister Cawood!” Jane’s voice still held a distant Scottish brogue. “Reverend Stoneworthy…”
But Cawood was into her office, and had shut the door behind her before Jane could finish. Able Stoneworthy sat across from her desk. He looked up from a book and smiled. Then his eyes squinted and he sat bolt upright.
“Karen! What happened?”
“Oh…” Cawood patted down the front of her black dress. Straightened her sweater. “I have a touch of something.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, was distressed by its heat. It would be red with shame. Holy Father.
“You look terrible!” Able hurried to her side. A warm hand wrapped around her upper arm. “You should sit down. You’re flushed.”
“I feel like I’ve been flushed.” She tried to distract him with levity.
He nodded. “Well, you shouldn’t be here if you’re not well.”
Cawood wondered why she had bothered. If she missed more work there’d be more questions.
“Women’s stuff too,” she muttered as she was led to her desk. Mention of women’s stuff always put the minister off.
“Oh.” Able gently steadied her in her chair. “That-well-yes…if you’re not well.”
“I’ll be fine.” She stuffed a peppermint into her mouth and was rewarded with a wave of nausea. It usually settled her stomach and covered any left over scent of detox. I have sinned…Generosity. She offered one to Able. Chastity. He smirked, took a mint and popped it into his mouth.
“You have to take better care of yourself.” Able settled himself on the edge of her desk.
“I’m fine.” She struggled weakly with her chair, sat forward.
“You’re not.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve been seeing a general, what shall I say. Decline?”
“ Decline. You sure know how to talk to a girl.” A whore!
“You haven’t been taking care of yourself.” Able’s furry brows combined. He raised his hand against her protest. “No. No. You haven’t and it’s time you did.” The minister rose and paced away alternately sucking on his candy and talking.
“It is common.” He chewed.
“I saw it in college,” he said, lips sucking, “and throughout my career.” The minister paused a second to try to break the hard candy with a single bite, demurred. “That individuals of a philosophical or religious frame of mind tend to neglect the body.” He worried at his candy gazing out the window at the cloud tops. “And, such scathing is typical of ancient religious practitioners and mystics… In an attempt to release oneself from the demands of the body, excoriation of this kind, abnegation and denial-can give a person a keener view.” He turned back to her. “And I admire it. I admire that kind of conviction.” He approached her desk again. “But you’re going too far. You’re unwell. You’ve lost weight and I’ll say it, you look like hell!”
Able reached over to pat the back of her clammy hand. “You must keep life in the body for your spiritual explorations to continue.” He smiled warmly. “Do it for me, would you?”
Cawood couldn’t believe her ears. Killing me with kindness… She sighed. Her self-destruction might never stop if people kept loving her. They believed in her and that drove her farther into it. Unless she fought. And for a moment, she felt an old part of herself clamor forward. It yearned for her to talk, to confess. Bless me Father for I have sinned. Looking into Able’s dark, sincere eyes now she knew he would not damn her, she knew he would help. All she had to do was tell him she was a whore and a drug abuser and worse. And then it would be over. She just had to live beyond her shame.
“Able,” she started, warmed by her friend’s attentive stance. “I…” She looked away, shame momentarily overwhelming her. “I just want to thank you for being my friend.” Cawood smiled up at him. Deep emotion brought moisture to her eyes. The minister rested a hand on her cheek. She grabbed his wrist and pressed her cheek against his palm. “I’ll take better care of myself.”
“As you reminded me.” He flashed his teeth. “We’ve been through too much together for you to have to say that.” Able stroked her cheek. “I need you alive, my dear. You inspire me to greater works.” Then in his slightly self-conscious way he joked. “And you know the rules about the dead. You turn yourself into a corpse and I’ll have to take the elevator to visit you on Zero.”
Though it was grim humor, she found enough energy to smile. “Why are you here?”
Able looked puzzled. “Why? Oh, here in your office? I just wanted to see if you will be prepared regarding tomorrow morning’s enterprise .”
Cawood briefly thought back on their last conversation. Able’s Angel… “Oh, yes. When did you want to do that?”
“I was told he would be expecting us at eleven.” A gleam sparkled in the minister’s eye.
“He?” Cawood’s muddled head could not make the leap. “The Angel?”
“Yes.” Stoneworthy patted the back of her hand. “He is expecting us then.”
“Well.” She didn’t know what to say. “Tomorrow morning, then.” Stoneworthy was too buoyed by his own excitement to see her doubt.
